


Darcy Does

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: Victory Girl Darcy Lewis [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Ass Play, But only a little, Car Sex, Come Kink, Daddy Kink, Darcy Does Everyone, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face Sitting, Face-Fucking, Good ole' fucking, Hair Pulling, Individually, Jane's on the up and up here, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Masturbation, No Angst, No cheating, Open Relationship, Panty Kink, Pon Farr, Porn, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Size Kink, Sloppy Seconds, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, Table fucking, Trust Kink, banterfuck, clothes-ripping, darcy don't care, finger banging, haha super puns, it's cool tony's super into it, just a lill, just fucking, just good ole' fuckin', magic sex, mentions of titty fucking, mild misuse of molijer, misuse of magic, slut shaming kinda, still no angst, voyerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: Debby did Dallas, but Darcy does Tony, Clint, Steve and Thor. Individually, and in that order.And then she does them again.Darcy just.... does.(aka the Avengers Character Study in Smut That No One Asked For)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GET IT GIRL .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy/Tony
> 
> Darcy/Clint
> 
> Darcy/Steve
> 
> Darcy/Thor

****

  1. Tony



 

He liked her legs. It took Darcy a while to figure it out. She thought he’d be more about the tits - as so many guys were. But no, he liked her legs. Liked her skinny jeans, and her leggings, and her occasional penchant for tube-socks and booty-shorts (he liked the last one best).

 

“That’s hardly lab-appropriate attire Lewis.” He gestured to her lap with his screwdriver, catching the flat-head on the edge of her shorts. Tony was all about pajama days. Insisted on them even. Unlike Jane who had insisted Darcy where pants _all the time._

 

She grinned like a shark, and crossed her legs at the knees where she was perched on Tony’s desk.  It made her shorts ride up, exposing another few inches of pale flesh. She wasn’t toned, never felt particularly attractive this close to naked, but Tony seemed to like it. Darcy couldn’t help but find confidence in that. Tony Stark liked the way she looked, chubby thighs included. “I could take it off?”

 

So yeah, maybe she encouraged it. So she liked the attention of billionaire philanthropist playboys.  What the fuck ever.  Who wouldn't? They’d played like this before, wicked banter, and comments that flirted the line between come-ons and sexual harassment.

 

Tony paused for half a moment, mouth pulling into a grin as he gestured to Butterfingers at the end of the table. “In front of the children Darcy? Scandalous.”

 

“Really?” Darcy poked him in the hip with her foot, before dragging her toes down his thigh. “You’re telling me you’ve never fucked the lab?”

 

He looked up at her, blinking. “Were we talking about fucking in the lab? I thought we were talking about your terrible choice in sleep attire. They have Batman logos, Darcy. Batman. You live with _actual_ superheros.”

 

“If you hate them that much, take them off yourself.” She leaned back on the table, propped on her hands. “We could be, you know.”

 

He reached out, fingers brushing over the short sleeve of her t-shirt. That was new. They didn’t normally touch. Not with hands, anyway. Never so overtly. “Mmhm. Could be what?”

 

It’s a now-or-never kind of moment, but given the build up, the UST if you will, Darcy isn’t all that nervous. “We could be fucking in the lab.”

 

Tony pauses, fingertips light against the skin of her arm. “Is that on the table?”

 

Boldly, Darcy unfolds her legs, and lets them fall open slightly. “In the literal sense.”

He moves between them smoothly, and lets his hands fall to her bare thighs. His palms are hot, burning against her skin, and Darcy feels her heart speed up. “I’m pretty sure there’s something about this in the company handbook. Fraternizing, or interpersonal relationships, or something. I don’t know; I didn’t read it. Did you read it?”

 

“No, and if we didn’t read it, it doesn’t exist,” Darcy suggests, hooking her legs around his, to pull him closer.

 

He pushes against her hands when she threads them into his hair, nails scratching at the nape of his neck. It makes his lashes flutter. “What about ah...our working relationship? I’d hate for this to affect our...fuck. Our productivity.”

 

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me no,” she points out, as she dips her finger tips into the waist of his jeans. They are _so_ going to fuck on this lab table. “If you’re really worried, we can clock out. It’s not like you use your lunch break for eating.”

 

“That depends on the menu,” Tony says suddenly, dipping down to nip at her neck. “There are just some spreads I can’t resist.”

 

She laughs when he sends You for condoms.

 

“What? We can’t sent Butterfingers for obvious reasons, and Dum-E has pinchers for fingers.” His fingers slip inside her, curling just so, and Darcy gasps. “God, you make me feel terrible.” His words don’t stop him from fucking into her with another fingers. “Like a dirty old man. You’re trouble.”

 

Darcy is good at reading people, always has been. Tony _likes_ trouble. Likes doing things he knows he shouldn’t. Likes doing them best when he knows he’ll get caught. Fucking your jail-bait assistant on a lab table is right up his alley. He likes trouble, and he likes naughtybadwrong. So when she pushes down his jeans, and says, “I could call you daddy,” she’s not surprised when Tony blushes, cock twitching against her thigh.

 

It’s easy sailing after that. Tony fucks like a machine which is appropriate, really. He’s methodical and rough, all firm-hands and stubble.  He fucks her like a metronome, smooth, solid, steady thrusts that never ease up.  She feels heat coil and build, and build, and build until it explodes (he’s good at that, explosions, fire, burning, heat), too big to handle, leaving her out-of-control and breathless.

 

  1. Clint



 

Jesus Christ. Clint Barton. Darcy cannot even. That man is ridiculous. Just...she gets a little silly just thinking about him. It isn’t like Tony who’s smooth words and coy looks emboldened her to play. Clint’s arm muscles make her fucking swoon.  His _ass_ ain’t that bad either. Darcy can’t even words.  Or she can, but she shouldn’t.  She can’t even be around him because she doesn’t know where to look. It’s all too fucking much.

 

“He likes his women forward. Make the first move,” Natasha says one day, as she’s correcting Darcy’s stance on the gym mats, moving her elbow, and straightening out her leg. “Go big, or go home. He likes that.”

 

Darcy swings her leg out, just like Natasha taught her. “What if he turns me down?”

 

Grabbing her by the ankle, Natasha stares at her. “He won’t.”

 

He doesn't.

 

Darcy takes Natasha’s advice to heart.  And then she takes her shirt off. If Clint wants big, well...Darcy has that (un)covered. There’s no real build up. Natasha wouldn’t lie to her, Darcy figures.  And Nat knows Clint best.

 

It happens like this. They’re alone in the weight room, working the ropes. He’s been teaching her evasion, teaching her to hide, to run, and duck, and blend. She’ll never be a super assassin, that’s for damn sure.  Darcy sucks at climbing; her center of gravity is shit, but she’s quick on her feet regardless.They’re sweaty, and panting, and have been pressed together for the good part of two hours. Clint is very hands on. Darcy likes that about him. So she takes her shirt off.  It’s just as effective as she thought it would be.

 

“Oh, fuck _yes_ ,” Clint says, going straight for the kill. He cups both tits, one in each hand, and face plants into her cleavage. He licks her there, tastes the salt of their tension. Doesn’t seem to care that she’s hot, and sweaty. Seems intent on getting her hotter, at any rate.  “Jesus Christ. Can I fuck them?”

 

“Sure,” she says, almost conversationally, as he pinches her nipple through two layers of sports bras. Her panties are already soaked, it’s nearly embarrassing. “Make me come first?”

 

He lifts his face up from the press of her tits, eyes narrowed, and thoughtful. “I’m going to need you to sit on my face.”

 

Some how, she ends up naked, knees spread on the mat, riding Clint’s face, and the only thing keeping her from suffocating him are her hands clenched around the hanging rope.

 He doesn’t seem to care about breathing, only seems to care about ruining her forever. He has both arms hooked around her thighs, biceps bulging as he pulls her harder against him.  It’s sloppy, messy, filthy and audiblywet.  Darcy can’t fucking breath for how goddamn hot it is.

 

She’s pretty sure she spends the next three days with beard burn on her ass hole.  

 

  1. Steve



 

Steve lives one floor above her, and they often share an elevator on the reg.  They’re friendly, but not exactly friends, per se.

Nods of greeting in the hallway friendly, general recognition of shared social circle friendly.  There’s thirty-two seconds between the common floor and Darcy’s, that they usually spend in companionable silence. 

 

So when Darcy decides to mix it up one day, and asks him how his day went, she’s not expecting him to reply with “I thought about you naked.”  He looks horrified at his own mouth, a rush of red stealing over his perfect cheekbones. “I am so so sorry, Ms. Lewis. I didn’t...mean to say that out loud. I mean, I wasn't...well I _was_ , but----”

 

There’s a lot of things one could say to that kind of accidental revelation. Probably. She can’t think of any, except one burning question. “Like? Right now?”

 

“What?”  He blinks at her, eyes wide. His cheeks are a very patriotic shade of red  “What?”

 

“Are you thinking about me naked right _now_?”

 

“Uh.” His gaze slides helplessly over her body.  She’s wearing the batman shorts that Tony hates, and a childs medium t-shirt, emblazoned with the Hulk’s grinning, cartoon face. “Um.”

 

The elevator doors slide open, her floor. Darcy holds her hand against the door, keeping them from closing. “Do you want to _see_ me naked?"

"Oh! Um. Really? Yeah. _Yes_. Please. Thank you."

 

The shirt’s a lost cause even before she gets her apartment door shut behind them, and it’s only the Grace of Gods and her hands on his dick through his jeans that keep him from tearing her shorts off too. (She likes these shorts; Tony _hates_ them).

  
  


  1.  Thor.



 

Darcy tells Jane about fucking Tony and Clint and Steve. Because duh, they are lady-bros, and lady-bros spill all. Or at least Darcy does. Jane is surprisingly tight-lipped about she and Thor’s sex life, much to Darcy’s dismay.

 

Or at least, she is until she isn’t.

 

“So...” Jane says slowly, hands still on her keyboard. “Casual sex is a thing you do?”

 

Darcy frowns, something uncomfortable unfurling in her gut. “Sometimes. With people I trust. I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl. I wouldn’t sleep with just anyone.  But...sex can just be fun. It doesn’t have to be more.” She squirms a little. “Maybe it’s not like that for you---”

 

“It is!” Jane insists, looking worried. “I mean, it was before Thor. I wasn’t judging you Darcy. I was just...clarifying.”

 

“Alright,” Darcy says, still feeling a little judged. Why did Jane even need to clarify?

 

It makes sense, two days later when Thor finds her alone in the apartment she and Jane share.  Jane is nowhere to be found even though she told Darcy to wait there for her. Apparently, she’s going to be late. That’s okay. Darcy will hunt her down in the office later.

 

“Darcy,” Thor greets her, crushing her into a spine-breaking hug. Darcy doesn’t mind. If she sneaks in a little feel-up, well. Who can blame her? The man is cut to cuddle. “Just the lady I was looking for.”

 

“What’s up Thor?” She’s not in any real rush to be anywhere. Tony had mentioned stopping by for _lunch_ , but she’s not the type of girl who blows her friends off for a good lay. Mostly.  Depends on what Thor wants.

 

“The lovely Lady Jane has told me that you are open to taking male companions for the pure pleasure of it,  without the commitment of betrothal or bonding.  It is a thing done widely on Asgard among the noble ladies. I had not thought Midgard shared such customs.”

 

Darcy stares at him for a moment and waits for her brain to translate. “Wait...Jane told you I was DTF?” He pauses too, though his brain doesn’t seem to get it.  It’s not the first time the Allspeak has failed to translate her correctly. “Down to fuck.”

 

“Ah...yes. Was she incorrect?” He stares at her then, with wide eyes. “I mean no disrespect! It is a choice a lady may make on her own, I judge you not either way.”

 

“No I do...that. I mean, I’m not...Okay, yes. Sometimes I have sex with people I’m not dating,” she says plainly. “For the pleasure of it.  Why Jane told you is beyond me, but thank you for your...kind words, regarding my private....time. That I share with other people...”

 

Thor stares at her for a long moment. “Jane sent me to you,” he says slowly, shifting on his feet in a way he only ever does when he’s feeling awkward. “Spring has come to birth around us. On Asgard, this would be cause for glorious celebration. The lands bring to seed a new generation, and so do the people of my planet. We go...quite mad for it. Here on Midgard, I had thought to do the same but Jane is...she is not the type of blossom who could stand such hearty...planting.”

 

Again, Darcy pauses because what? “Are you telling me Jane can’t handle your pon farr?”

 

“I know not of this Pon Farr, but if you mean to say that Jane would not withstand my planets heartier customs than you are correct.” He frowns for a moment, eyes furrowed. “You and Jane are different parts of the same rose. She is the delicate blossom, of whom I would surely crush were I to take her as I often wish during this celebration of my people. And you Lady Darcy, are the thorn to cut my palms should my hands grip too firmly. But I find that I like the blood of battle and passion boths.Do you understand?”

 

Darcy...does. Sort of. “Are you....are you propositioning me? Oh my God, Thor! Jane is my best friend---”

 

“My Jane sent me to you,” Thor says again, just as slowly as the first time. He reaches forward, and catches both her hands in one of his own. “She told me that you might be inclined to grant me this, for you trust me and find me to your liking physically. She also said you survived quite heartily, the likes of Stark, Barton and the Captain, and I think that if your body does bend to the likes of my dear friends, it too should sustain my own---”

 

“Jane needs to shut her whore mouth.”

 

“So it is not so out wild a guess that you can withstand what I might offer as well,” Thor presses on, eyes keen. “Darcy Lewis, will you at least consider me as a companion?”

 

“I need a minute.” She sits on the couch and stares at the wall for exactly sixty seconds. “So...you’re propositioning me for rough, kinky, Asgardian sex because you think I can take it?”

 

Thor’s eyes narrow as he stares down at her, looking every bit the part of some haughty prince. “I _know_ you can.”

 

Fucking Thor is like nothing Darcy has ever imagined. His dick is huge, but she takes it. Lets him push right in, gasping at the tight clutch of her cunt. Her body seems to defy physics in accommodating him, making space where none had been before. She's never felt so full in her life.

 

“See? Your body, it gives to me easily. A good sign for a strong harvest,” he tells her, which is some weird bedroom talk, but it’s not the worst compliment she’s ever heard.

 

“You better be talking about farming,” she warns, though it’s hard to talk when you feel that good. “This is a fetus-free zone.I will be harvesting nothing.”

 

“Of course,” Thor says easily, clutching her hips. “But a hearty coupling is a good omen for the coming season. Let us bless our lands both, Lady Darcy.”

 

“Bless away,” Darcy gasps, spreading her legs wider. Thors hips slam into her, and all puns aside, Darcy sees _stars_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that she knows what he looks like when he’s having sex, Darcy can say with absolute certainty, she knows what Steve looks like when he thinks about sex.
> 
>  
> 
> Steven again, with bonus Not-Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAH THIS WAS GONNA BE A ONE SHOT BUT I AM NOT GOOD AT DOING ANYTHING ONCE. 
> 
> I ate like three rocks as a child. I have impulse control issues.
> 
> Darcy/Steve

**Steve**

          Now that she knows what he looks like when he’s having sex, Darcy can say with absolute certainty, she knows what Steve looks like when he thinks about sex. 

 

And he thinks about sex, a lot.  Like. Just. All the goddamn time.  Watching movies with the dudes in the common area; thinking about sex.  Eating oatmeal at the counter, staring off at nothing; thinking about sex.  In medical, post-battle, getting stitched up by a gruff looking doctor with a toothbrush mustache; thinking about sex.

 

Maybe it’s always been that way, but the difference now is _a)_ she hadn’t known what he looked like when he was fucking someone up a goddamn wall, all furrowed brow, and sheen of patriotic sweat and b) she hadn’t seen him much, before.

 

But now. Now, she’s working as the Avengers/SHIELD liaison and PR rep. And Steve? Well, Tony might bankroll the whole shebang, but Steve’s The Face. The Golden Boy of America. Just like Back In The Day, but without the booty shorts and showgirls so he seems to tolerate it a little better. The point here is, she sees a lot of Steve.  All the goddamn time. If he’s summoned to SHIELD, she’s right there beside him. Avengers Assemble; Darcy’s there.  Press conference, yep they’re there.

 

The buddy-fucking doesn’t seem to have made anything weird, to her delight. If anything, Steve’s loosened up a little. Which, yeah, there’s nothing like good sex to put a little spring in your step. And it was good. Darcy didn’t know her body could bend that way.  She’s fairly certain she saw her own asshole at one point or another, when he had her twisted like a pretzel and hanging off his dick.

 

Good times. 10/10 would do again. For America.

 

“You’re thinking ‘bout sex.”

 

She startled, turning to look at him where he stands beside her in the elevator.  They’re headed back from SHIELD, post-debrief from the latest Avengers Scandal. “No I’m not,” she denies without any attempt to seem authentic.

 

“Sure you are." She realizes in that moment, Steve knows what she looks like when she’s coming. “But then, so am I.”

 

“Yeah. Well. You’re _always_ thinking about sex.” She’s not sure why she’s arguing here. She’s not sure why she sounds so bullish.  

 

Steve doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he seems to find it funny. “You think so?”

 

“You are!” She doesn’t know when he corralled her against the side of the elevator and bracketed her in with his arms. But she does remember the last time he did so and it ended well.Very well. So she’s gonna allow it. “All the time!”

 

“Not _all_ the time,” he disagrees, moving his fingers so they dip beneath the hem of her shirt, and press into the soft curve of her belly. “Maybe it just seems that way when you’re around because looking at you gets me thinking _some_ kind of way. You consider that?” God, but the SHIELD elevators are slow as shit.  If this were the Avengers tower, they’d be naked in her room by now.

 

“That’s a very good point,” she accedes, tipping her head back when he moves to kiss her neck.  She’s still not sure how this happened. But she doesn’t hate it. “Still thinking about me naked?”

 

“Yeah." He's shameless in a way that is all Seven and zero Cap. He hooks a finger into the neckline of her shirt and pulls, exposing the barest hint of lace from her bra. Darcy’s breath catches.  “But my memory’s coming up short. Little fuzzy on the details. Show me?”

 

His memory is _not_ fuzzy. She’s seen him memorize complete maps in 8 seconds. He knows _exactly_ what she looks like naked. “We’re in the SHIELD elevators.”

 

She’s not reminding him. She’s reminding herself, and her panties, which seemed curious to rediscover what the climate is around her ankles. There are cameras in these elevators.

 

Steve lets his hand slide down the curve of her breast, and curl over her rib cage.  His hands are so fucking big, Darcy feels her knees weaken. “Okay,” he agrees like she’d asked him some kind of question. Maybe she did? Who the fuck knows, she can’t think when he’s got his hands on her likes this. “So we take the car back to the tower, and I take you back to my place where you can...refresh my memory.”

 

They don’t make it back to the tower. They make it to Sixtieth and Melbourne before he’s fucking up into her in the backseat of a Stark town car  She’s _not_ naked, and neither is he, but it’s not exactly hindering them by any means. Her panties are hanging off one ankle, and Steve’s got his pants shoved down to his knees.  It’s a tight fit, in the backseat of the town car, and not just because Steve’s super-dick. Darcy fits her knees over his thighs, arches her back and pushes against the partition with the palms of her hands for leverage.  

 

 Steve keeps her going, one hand curled over her hip, pulling her down. His dick, God Bless _America_ , has just the right curve to it.  It's rubbing her all the right ways and she already feels like she could come, just like this, riding on his dick, extra hard for every pothole.

 

“Steve---” She doesn’t want to beg, but it’s just _that_ good. It’s like her body knows he can give her what she wants, if only she’ll fucking ask.

 

It’s not like fucking Tony, who plays her body like goddamn music, who strings her out like a violin, who gives her what she needs before she knows she needs it (the man is a fucking genius.).  

 

Or Clint who makes a mess of her, whose goal is to make as _big_ a mess of her as possible, inside and out. Their sex is sloppy, wet and loud and always in unexpected placed (which only meant her ass the one time, and _his_ ass twice).  

 

Or Thor - Thor who makes her feel so deliciously _helpless_ against him, who manhandles her into place and fucks the pleasure right in and out of her with the force of all the stars combined.  

 

 _Steve---_ Steve’s game is to make her scream, and beg, and cry and come and she needs it, god she needs it, she wants it, she’ll fucking beg to have it.  He likes it loud, likes to hear his name, likes her to tell him exactly what he’s doing right. 

Validation, domination, control; it’s a combination of the lot and it goddamn works for him. He likes precision, likes to make her work for it, likes her to know what she wants, to demand it, won’t give her a goddamn thing until she screams it to the heavens and tacks a _pleasepleaseplease_ to the end. 

He can fuck her all day until she gives it up, and she _will_.  Kinky mother fucker. SHe should have known. It’s always the quiet ones. “Please, please---”

 

He's pressing kisses up her spine.  “Pretty when you beg, Doll.” His hands are rough, like he can't decide what he wants to touch more. So he touches her everything. Her everywhere.  “Come on honey, lemme have it. Lemme hear it. Louder this time. And say my name. Say it.”

 

“I want---Can you--- _Harder_ .” She comes helplessly then, when he takes her by the thighs and lifts her up off his cock, slamming her down like she weighs nothing at all.  He keeps her going even when her thighs tremble. When she slips, too weak to hold herself up, he doesn’t stop, just waits until she braces herself against the partition with the length of her forearms, fists slamming into the glass over and over again.  “Stev _en_ \--- _fuck_.”

 

He fucking _spanks_ her - which is new but not unwelcomed- once, hard and firm, before putting his hand back under her thigh and moving her over him.

“Language,” he laughs, her asscheek still stinging. She’s still crying out with every slam of his hips,little _oh oh oh’s_ , and he seems determined to get her there again, louder this time, sweeter and screaming.  He collects her, a sweaty shaking mess, back pressed to his chest and fucks and fucks and fucks. The new angle does wonders and there it is - that violent punching pleasure that makes her all but shriek and come, soaking both their thighs.

 

The drag of his cock inside her is almost too much and she can't tell if she's still coming, or coming again by the time he follows suit, hips snapping one, two, three times more before they both fall still, silent but for their panting.  Darcy can’t help the little moans still slipping from her mouth, aftershocks of pleasure, it’s all too fucking good.

 

She’s gonna hurt tomorrow, feel the stretch and burn in her thighs and hips. Every twinge will make her wetter, and he’ll fucking know just by looking at her, the strange lilt in her gait, the bastard.

 

He not done of course. He's still hard. Darcy grins and clenches around his cock just to hear him moan. She is not in control here, not in the slightest, but she can play the game. They've got at least nine blocks before they hit the underground parking for the tower. It's more than enough for another round.

When they finally tumble out of the town car, Darcy’s thighs are sticky with his come and her own, which she fully intends to have him clean with his _mouth._

She’s straightening out her blouse and pulling down her skirt, wondering where her panties are, when Sergeant Barnes climbs out of the driver seat with a truly _spectacular_ murder face.  Darcy’s honestly too fucked out to feel fully horrified by the situation, and so she just stares, wide-eyed, rosy cheeked, mouth swollen and red and fallen open.

 

He doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t merit even an iota of his attention, and that’s fine, that’s fucking swell because she really doesn’t want it.  Steve though. Oh boy. His Glare Of Face Melting Death seems _all_ for Steve. “Punk,” he grunts, metal fingers flexing as he slams the door hard enough to make the whole car shift, and shudder.

 

Steven, sweet, smirking, shameless Steven, slings an arm over Darcy’s shoulders. He’s already leading her toward the elevators when he calls back,  “Thanks for the ride, Bucky!”

  It’s not until they’re in the elevators and he’s pushing his fingers up her skirt, and back into her messy cunt that she finds her words. “You could have told me!”

 

He manages a _mildly_ apologeticrimace, but pours most his apology into thumbing at her clit, a distraction maneuver if she’d ever seen one.  “You knew _someone_ was driving.”

 

“I didn’t know it was Barnes. How am I supposed to look him in the face when he knows what I sound like when I’m---christ, _fuck_.” How is she suppose to stay angry when he’s curling his fingers just so?

 

The mother fucker spins her, presses her chest against the side of the elevator and _spanks_ her again. “Language,” he says, crowding up against her, hands sliding up over her rib cage, cupping her breasts. “You sound real pretty when you come.” He nips at the curve where her neck melts into her shoulder, and she shudders. “I bet he spent half the trip back to the tower hard. Can't imagine a man wouldn't be, hearing all the pretty sounds you  make.” He pulls his hand away, and Darcy cries a little at the loss, even as he fits his hands - fucking huge hands - over the sweep of her hips and _grinds_ himself against her back. “He used to bring girls back to our apartment. Make me listen to them cry his name while he put his mouth all over em. Thought he was doing my some kind of favor, since I wasn't much with Dames back then. ”

 

“So you fucked me for payback?”

 

“Naw, I really did mean to bring you back to my place.”The elevator doors slide open, and he pulls her into the hall toward his rooms. “I just couldn’t wait.”

 

“You’re a little bit of an exhibtionist, aren’t you Cap?” The elevators. The car. That time he’d kicked her legs apart under the debriefing table and propped his foot between her thighs so she was forced to sit, eagle-spread in the middle of a post-mission meeting. 

 

She didn’t have a foot fetish, but grinding up against his boot hadn’t exactly seemed unappealing. She’d refrained, but only because Clint was watching her with a grin that said he fucking knew what Cap’ was up too.  Darcy’s starting to suspect he wants to be caught.

 She thought he’d be more shy.  Thought he’d balk at the idea of casual sex. Imagined it more in the dark and under the covers. But here he is, fucking her in the back seat of cars while his best friend listens in, pushing his come back up into her cunt in public elevators...  Steve’s just full of surprises.

 

He doesn’t answer. Just pulls her through his door with a laugh.

 

 **_BONUS_ ** : Not Bucky

 

Darcy would like it known that she had no idea Bucky and Steve share quarters. There’s more than enough space for everyone to have their own rooms in the Tower so it doesn’t exactly make sense from an outsider's perspective.

BututDarcy knows enough that Steve and Bucky aren’t exactly keen to be separated.  They are the original #squadgoals, _bff5eva_ and they’ve had a rough time of it.

So it makes sense, with those details, that they’d share their apartment now like they had then.  Darcy simply hadn’t known that when she was being roughly fucked by Captain Goddamn America. Loudly because that’s the way Steve likes it, and for hours before they’d collapsed in a sweaty, sated, sleepy heap.

 

But there Sergeant Barnes stands, in his sweats and nothing else, hip propped against the kitchen counter. “Jesus Christ.” She’s honestly not sure which of them says it. She’s still kind of fucked out.

 

The Face Melting Murder Glare is directed to her this time, probably because Steve isn’t present.  Darcy isn’t sure what time it is - isn’t sure if it’s day or night to be honest. 

She wanders out of Steve’s bedroom wearing no more than one of his dorky plaid button ups only half-buttoned up in search of water and her skirt which she’s fairly sure didn’t make it past the foyer.  Sergeant Barnes watches her, in all his surprisingly judgmental glory, drinking orange juice from the carton. Morning then, probably.  

 

She rummages through the cupboards for a glass, before filling it at the tap.  His glare had weight, almost tangible _weight_ , pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck.  She wonders if she should apologize.  She isn’t much for exhibitionism, has a moderate sense of shame and while she enjoys all the fabulous sex she has with Steve (and everyone else), she isn’t a hundred percent sure how she feels about an audience (getting turned on when Clint knew Cap’ was fucking with her is different. Kind of. She thinks.)

 

Words will be had with Steven Rodgers. Or they would if he’d stop peeling off her panties and blowing her mind long enough for her anger to hold. He’s just so good at....everything he does to her, actually. It’s distracting. She suspects that his goal though. Man with a plan, and all that.

 

“Didn’t realize it was that way,” Bucky mutters, watching her as she drinks.  

 

Darcy doesn’t know what that means. “What way?”

 

“We had girls like you around in the army.” He smirks, and it isn’t nice and Darcy knows whatever he has to say is meant to piss her off. She sets her glass down. “You know the type.”

 

“I’m sure that I don’t.”

 

“Little pick-me-up mud bugs,” Bucky drawled, that Brooklyn edge rolling off his tongue with ease. “ _Victory_ girls. Trench tramps, bedding the whole damn squadron without so much as a sunset between. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a floozy, princess.”

 

Darcy let’s this influx of information rattle through her brain and decides she kind of likes the term Victory Girl. She grins, and he seems put off by the sight of it.

 

The thing is....it _is_ mean, as far as insults and accusations go. Scandalous even, if this were 1938.  But Darcy’s never done anything she regrets, least of all Steve, or Tony, or Clint or Thor. Or Steve again. And then Again.  Not to mention Clint yesterday. And Tony _every_ night, honestly, one way or another. Her lady bits have never seen so much action. She’s a grown ass woman, and her body is her own, not to be shamed or governed by _anyone_ but herself.  The insult is there, clear as day on his side of the glass but it just doesn’t shine through her looser millennial morals.

 

So nah, it doesn’t upset her. However, she knows a certain someone who might take offense. She grins, licks her lips and watches him watch her. “Call me that in front of Steve,” she dares him. “I’d just _love_ to hear his take on it.”

 

“I don’t give a shit what Steve thinks,” Bucky mutters, slamming the cardboard carton of orange juice down on the counter. “But he should care more about what kind of floozy’s he’s bringing home. Does he know you're fucking the whole team?”

 

“We call them sluts now, not floozies.” She grins, and leans against the counter. “And yeah, I reckon he does know if the look he and Clint have been sharing is any clue.” Leaning back on her elbows makes Steve’s shirt pull open across her chest, exposing more skin than she really intended but moving to cover herself up would invalidate her point so whatever. “And I'm not exactly his _girl_ , Sarge. I'm just a.... Friend.”

 

“You're real friendly alright. With every guy in this tower.”

 

“Just the ones on floor sixty-eight and above” She leans back, props her elbows against the counter in a way that puts her girls front and center. It's only a button or two away from full frontal but she likes how uncomfortable it makes him.  Uncomfortable, but not leaving. “Jealous?”

 

"Yeah, right." He's staring at the toaster, mouth pulled into a grim frown. “Just because you ain't got any reputation left to ruin, don't mean you need to drag Steve down with you.”

 

“I'm not exactly the one pushing Steve's hand up my skirt in elevators. That's on him. And you were in the car, Sarge. Did I invite myself anywhere he didn’t want me? You’re awfully judgmental for someone with his own set of loose morals.” His expression turns thunderous, and Darcy waves a hand at him. “I don’t mean your Ice Age, dude. I mean you bringing girls home when there wasn’t so much as a wall between you and Stevie. We at least shoot for the _illusion_ of privacy.”

 

Bucky freezes, frowns. “He told you that?”

 

“Said he reckoned you thought you were doing him a favor.” She sips her water. “Here’s the thing, Barnes. No one _this_ day in age is gonna judge me for riding every dick in all of lower Manhattan. I mean, well. They can _try_ but it isn’t gonna do me any damage. Unlike bedding a girl in the 40’s whose good name could fall a lot farther than mine, nowadays.  Not very good of you to risk a girl's entire reputation just to get your dick wet.”

 

“I didn’t fuck em,” Bucky mutters, though he looks surprised at the admission. “Girls didn’t give it up so easy back then.”

 

“Please,” Darcy drawls. “Don’t act like you didn’t try. And I'd hazard spelling your name with your tongue over their panties would have been enough to consider them loose.”

 

“So what if I did?” Bucky shifts, cagey in the closed space of the kitchen. “What’s your point? I didn't kiss and tell. No harm done.”

“How it’s different, you and I? You chased your tail, I chase mine.  Any shit you gotta say about what I get up too...you’re not exactly innocent.  And let’s be real, me getting friendly with half the team isn’t doing their reputation any harm. No one knows, no harm done. So what’s your real problem, here, buddy?” She sets her glass down, and leans forward. “Is this because I’m a woman? You got a problem with women, Barnes?”

 

“Only the ones fucking around on my best guy,” Barnes snaps back. “Steve deserves better than some loose groupie star fucker. He needs a _good_ gal.”

 

Darcy can’t help the laugh that spills out of her mouth. “You and I must know a different Steve, because he seems like he needs someone he can _spank_ more than anything else.”

 

To Darcy’s great amusement, Bucky blushes. “Stevie’s not like that.”

 

“You’re wrong, and I got the handprint bruises to show it.” She hikes up the hem of her shirt just a little, and turns. “I could show you?” His expression, the physical recoil of his body, is so goddamn amusing, Darcy can’t stop the laugh that escapes her. “Calm down, Barnes. Your virtue’s safe with me.  See, it might look like I’m gunning to fuck every Avenger but I don’t actually want _you_. Wanna know why?”

 

His arrows narrow. “As if it matters. I know better than to take a groupie to bed.”

 

“Because I don’t fuck repressed weirdos who wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if it sat on their face.” She continues, grinning at his sudden indignant look. Pride he has in spades, and Darcy’s not so good a girl to play off that.  “And hon. Honey. _Doll_ .  I’m not a groupie. I’m _the_ groupie. Queen Groupie, if you will. You don’t see any other girls around the tower, do you?” She closes the gap between them and bops him on the nose with a single finger tip. “All the girls in the world would take anyone of my boys to bed, but it’s me they come too.” She isn’t bragging.  It might be that they come because she’s just that good (and she’d like to think that’s part of it) but a bigger part is that she’ll never, _ever_ hurt them. “I might seem like a Good Time Gal but you’re just a sad sack, sitting alone in his room trying not to get hard while his best guy gets his rocks off again, and again, and again.” Darcy laughs as he darts away from her, his gaze falling to the floor. “You could have left. But you stayed and listened. Did you touch yourself, Barnes? Who were you really listening to? Me or Steve?”

 

“Shut _up_.”

 

“You did, didn’t you?” Darcy knows she’s playing with fire. “Mmm. Yeah. Steve said you would.” She picks up her glass, fully intending to dump it on Stevens head. “Until next time, Sarge!”

 

“Slut.”

 

“There ya go,” she laughs. “but I think all things considered, I'm actually a _super_ slut.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fucking literally all of your friends.” Tony knows. He’s a smart man. And he controls the cameras in the tower. There’s a video of her riding Clint’s face somewhere, and Tony has absolutely seen it. “All of them. And some people you don’t even like.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Well you’d be a shitty sugar baby if you weren’t.” He pushes two fingers into her and curls them sweetly. Darcy could cry at how good it feels. “I don’t see the problem.”
> 
>  
> 
> Tony Again, then Bruce. With very honorable mentions of Steven, Clint, and Thor. Smuuuut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just love Tony/Darcy okay.
> 
> Darcy/Tony
> 
> Darcy/Bruce

**TONY**

 

Tony’s got his head between her thighs, working her through a third orgasm at the tip of his tongue when the thought occurs to her. “Are we--- Tony are we _dating_?”

 

He’d taken her to dinner, some fancy gala thing where each plate cost as solid grand. Tony had schmoozed his way through a solid wall of uppity rich people, Darcy hanging off his arm, dripping in diamonds at the ears and neck like a glitzy winter icicle. He’d even picked out her dress, iron man red and cut in a way that screamed Jessica Rabbit. They’d danced across the floor to slow jazz, drank champagne and mocked everything within a six-foot radius.  Tony’d grabbed her ass at every chance given, especially when a camera flashed or a paparazzi circled too close like a hungry shark.  “Was this a date?”

 

Tony doesn’t answer right away, content to lick at her clit until her thighs tremble. She’s on the cusp of a fourth orgasm when he finally lifts his head, the bastard.

 

“Obviously. What do you think we’ve been doing these past few months? Did you...do you honestly think I'd invest this much effort into foreplay on just anyone? Darcy, I've been down here for forty-five minutes.”

 

“We’ve been dating for months?” They do go out a lot. Out of all her pretty boys, he’s the only one who takes her out.  She’s seen herself splashed on a number of tabloids lately, sordid shots with his hand curving over her tit, or his mouth nipping at her neck. Tony likes PDA, loves it really, and he’s not shy in putting his hands on her in public. In her, as well, though that hasn't ended up in print yet.

 

Darcy likes it.  Tony’s rich and it shows and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the luxury of fucking Tony Stark. He spoils her rotten, with gifts and time and some of the best oral sex she’s ever experienced.  Plus he's fun. He's smart, and fun, and makes her feel stupidly special and pretty, and worth it. She hadn't much to her name before she met him, but he makes her feel equal. Like he's the lucky one.   “Holy shit, are you my sugar daddy?”

 

“Obviously,” he says again, licking up her cunt in one, slow slide. She's come so much, it's a shivery sort of pleasure now, borderline too much. “I’m old enough to be your father and I regularly stick my dick in you. And in return, you let me buy you expensive things and show you off in public. We’re legit, honey. I put you in my will and everything.”

 

“I’m fucking literally all of your friends.” Tony knows. He’s a smart man. And he controls the cameras in the tower. There’s a video of her riding Clint’s face somewhere, and Tony has absolutely seen it. “All of them. And some people you don’t even like.”

 

“Well, you’d be a shitty sugar baby if you weren’t.” He pushes two fingers into her and curls them sweetly. Darcy could cry at how good it feels.  “I don’t see the problem.”

 

“You don’t care?” She’s panting a little, back arching up against the lab table he’s got her spread across. “I mean. I fucked Clint like four hours ago.” He’d helped her into her fancy cocktail dress and then hiked it up around her hips so he could fuck her over the bathroom counter in front of the mirror. 

 

“Why do you think I'm going down on you? We've all got our kinks.” He licks her again. “Darcy. Babe. You like sex. I like sex. I like you. You like me. You can fuck who you want, I can fuck you.  Again, I’m not seeing the problem here.”

 

She forces herself up, propping herself on one arm and ruffling through his hair with the other hand. “How can you not care?” She'd stop if he asked. Probably. She's pretty sure.

 

“You should watch some of the video feed with me sometime,” he tells her. “You’ll understand why I really, really don’t mind. That shit with you and Rogers in the town car last week? Gorgeous. And you always come back to me.”

 

It pulls her up short, that last bit. Darcy does come to Tony.  She didn’t come to any of the others. Not Steve, or Clint or Thor. Clint....maybe. But Natasha had told her that Clint was down, ready and waiting for her to make a move and that had been Clint’s first move, really.  Tony’s different. She’d come to Tony. She always comes to Tony.

 

“I always wanted a sugar daddy,” Darcy muses and pushes his head back to her cunt. “Make me come again”

 

**BRUCE:**

 

It’s been a long fucking week, PR scandals, SHIELD outbursts and general superhero fuckery all coming together on a Friday, just in time to ruin her weekend.  By the time Monday rolls around, Darcy just really wants to spend some time on her back forgetting anything else exists.

 

So when she gets a text from Tony first thing in the morning that says:

 

_My place 9:00 AM wear your lab coat,_

 

Darcy sighs; it isn’t her job, but she’s been known to play lab assistant to Tony.  It’s not what she had planned for Tony today, but she can suck it up long enough to get through whatever project he’s fixated on before maybe luring him away with a blow job.  Before she can reply, a second text comes in.

 

_Just your lab coat._

 

Oh.   _Oh_. Well then.  Darcy does like Tony’s games.

 

His games include costumes a _lot._

 

It’s just past seven; she has enough time to shower.  Since she’s taken up with spending so much time naked in the presence of Avengers, Darcy’s come to invest a little more time in her appearance _sans_ clothing.  She shaves everything below the leg more times in a week than she did in all her freshman year at college.  Exfoliates. Moisturizes.

 

        Tony likes her hair down, and for something that should take less time than putting it up, it doesn’t.  She smooths it out, and straightens it, letting it fall past her shoulders in one, glossy sheet.  Would she prefer a big messy bun? Yeah, but only because she’s been known to be lazy.  Fixing her hair and makeup like this? Has the benefit of someone wanting to _mess it up_ and Darcy is down for that. Tony’s a hair puller. Darcy is not complaining.

 

The lab coat hanging in the foyer is not her lab coat. It’s still in the dry cleaning bag for one, and it’s _shorter_.  Fitted. Tony has her measurements and likes using them.  She doesn’t get enough chances to slip down to the communal labs often anymore, and pulling on the coat over her bare skin is a strange sensation. It ends inches over her knees.  Darcy buttons it from top to bottom, marveling at the neat fit, hands skating over the darts beneath the breast that shape over her ribs and giver her an illusion of support.

 There’s a shoe box in the foyer too, that wasn’t there before, and Darcy doesn’t know what to make of the plum colored, peep-toe pumps with their sleek, red sole because Tony doesn’t buy shoes that aren’t Louboutins. They don’t exist to him.  They’re _definitely_ not lab appropriate.  Darcy slips them on and grins. 

 

The private lab elevators woosh open right at nine and Darcy steps into the lab. “Mr. Stark,” she sings, walking in a way that makes her heels slap extra loud against the cool, slick floors.  In bed, Tony has a lot of names and Tony really is the least of them. Sometimes he wants her to call him Daddy. Sometimes he wants her to call him _Iron Man._ Mr. Stark is tame in comparison, but he suspects he’ll like it. She rounds the corner into the recessed pit of the lab where Tony works to find----

 

Doctor Banner.

 

“Miss Lewis,” he greets, with an enigmatic smile. “Tony isn’t in yet.”

 

Darcy twitches. The air of the lab is cold enough to make her nipples harden. It isn’t a play by Tony, all the labs are kept cold as fuck, but she’s just more aware of it, freshly showered and shaved. “Oh,” she says, coming down the steps.

 

“There’s a box on his table with your name on it,” Bruce offers, pointing errantly with a soldering iron. "Were you expecting him?"

 

"He just texted me to come to the labs. Hmm,” she hums, noncommittally, rounding Bruce to make her way to Tony’s table.  The box is small, palm-sized and inside is an earpiece not unlike her SHIELD communications device.  Darcy picks it up and considers throwing it across the fucking lab. But....her gaze skitters to Bruce and she slides it in place over her ear, tapping the small button the side to activate. She's curious.

 

“ _Baby_ ,” Tony’s voice is smooth, easy as the both of them, in her ear. “ _You look stunning_.”

 

Darcy picks up a file next to the box and pretends to be very interested in what it has to say.  She can’t exactly reply, can’t give the game away.

 

 _“Go to my table. Kick the chair away. No sitting. Open the laptop and pull up the file labeled for Exploratory Research,”_ Tony tells her and Darcy wonders where he is. He’s absolutely watching, this she knows.

 

She does as he asks, pulling up the required file, swallowing a noise of surprise when a video begins to play.  It’s her. God. It’s her.  It’s the video of her first time with Clint. She remembers feeling helpless to what he was doing to her, but she hadn’t known how helpless she looked.

 

        Both her hands are wrapped and tangled in the climbing rope and she can see the strain in her arms and back as she struggles to hold herself, hips twitching, thighs flexing against his face. He’s pulling her against him, his strength against her own and it's--- It’s fucking hot. She’s riding his face, little rolls of her hips, and he’s so _hard_. She hadn’t known.  She doesn’t remember him letting go of one of her thighs to reach back and palm himself but there it is.  She’s fucking herself against his face and he’s fucking up against his own palm and Tony’s fucked his own fist to this very video, maybe watched it and came to her and fucked her too.

 

She’s wet. Just like that, she’s _wet_.

 

 _“Keep watching,”_ Tony instructs, sounding rough.  

 

The video changes, and this time it’s Steve. It’s from fucking last week, and Darcy could tell you exactly where the camera was.  The fucking _town car_ .  Her face doesn’t show, just her lower body where it’s connected to Steves.  The flex of his forearms makes her cunt clench, as she watches him pick her up and slam her down like he can’t help it.  She can’t hear anything, but she knows what she sounded like. The helpless, hard _grunts_ that had escaped her.  Steve pulls her flush against him and fucks up, feet braced against the floor and she can see the bruises already forming on her hips (they’re a pretty, sunset purple now), the way her whole body shudders.

 

She makes a noise, and Bruce looks at her sharply. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Darcy forces herself to say. “Just irritated with Tony.”

 

Tony huffs and Bruce, unknowingly, matches the noise. “I understand the sentiment.”

 

 _“Keep watching,”_ Tony tells her in the com. _“Best parts coming up.”_

 

She pulls her gaze to the screen just in time to see it pan to the front seat. The shocked little gasp is loud and she knows Bruce is looking at her.  Doesn’t need to look up to know. Can’t look up. Because Bucky -- Sergeant Barnes -  has his around his cock, even as he drives and she watches him come, hard and fast, across the steering wheel.

 

Her thighs clench, sticky and damp.  Darcy grips the edge of the table.

 

“Ms. Lewis, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah. Yes.” Darcy breathes in through her nose and out of her mouth. “Fucking---Fucking Tony,” she says, tilting her head to the computer. “You would not believe what he’s got me going through right now.”

 

“I can’t imagine,” Bruce says, with a small, curious smile.

 

 _“Next one,”_ Tony hums. _“Eyes on the screen, princess.”_

 

It’s her and Thor.  In Jane’s fucking lab. While Jane tinkers away at some machine six feet away sparing them only the occasional amused glance.  Thor’s got her bent over Jane’s desk, Molijer balanced on her forearms, pinning her in place.  His other hand is curled around her throat, pulling her just enough to make her spine curl and air hard to come by. It’s--- God. Darcy had come so fast, she’d _cried_ and he hadn’t stopped, fucked her through it - fucking railed her filthy and goddamn hard. It should have hurt, and it kind of did but it felt so fucking _good_.

 

     Wild and brutal; Darcy had ceased to be a goddamn person underneath him, just supernova pleasure. She’s completely naked, but Thor’s dressed, pants shoved to his thighs. She remembers how the rough, new denim had rasped against her thighs.  After he’d spent himself, he’d knocked Molijer away, flipped her over and licked her clean until she came, hot and wet, over his mouth.  Again, and again, and again, until Darcy was left, a shivery, shuddering mess, a black hole abyss at his touch.

 

She needs to be fucked _right now. “_ Goddammit, Tony.” Bruce makes a questioning noise, but Darcy just shakes her head at him. “S’nothing.”

Tony makes a soothing noise. _“One more babe. You’re doing so good.”_

 

Darcy doesn’t know what that means. She’s not doing anything but watching her own porn while poor Bruce stands ten feet away, fiddling away at his desk.

 

It’s them, this time. Her and Tony. In this very lab. Over Bruce’s goddamn lab table. Tony had laid her out and slipped his fingers inside of her, kissed up her body, played her like any one of his fucking machines. That’s what Tony Stark does, Darcy realizes. He plays. She watches the screen, breath held in her lungs and remembers the way Tony had propped her feet on the edge of the table and made her _spread_ just so he could look. The way he had her touch herself, while he watched.  Darcy had, begging for him to just _fuck her._   _I’m not Cap_ , Tony had told her. _I don’t want begging._ There was nothing Darcy could do to make Tony fuck her until fucking her was what Tony wanted. And the only way to do that was to touch herself, so she did.

 

 _“Bruce knows you’re naked under the coat,”_ Tony tells her and Darcy can’t breathe. _“I told him in the com he’s wearing. He’s known the whole time, Darcy.”_

 

“Tony.”  She says it out loud, even as she shifts on her feet, so turned on she could cry. “Goddamn it, Tony.” She pulls the com from her ear and throws it on the floor.

 

Bruce is looking at her, wide-eyed and flushed and Darcy can see his laptop opened on his desk, faced away.  She approaches him on shaky legs, reaches up and pulls the com from his ear.  The sound of herself coming vibrates through her, and she realizes - she hadn’t been able to hear the audio but Bruce had. Bruce had watched---he’d heard everything. On his screen, Tony’s fucking her over Bruce’s goddamn lab table.  Darcy’s legs are thrown over his shoulders and his hands are under her ass, lifting her up to him.  Darcy’s holding onto the edge of the desk over her head, mouth open, eyes closed. It’s---

 

 _“I’m gonna watch,”_ Tony tells her, through Bruce’s com. _“I’m watching you, baby.”_

 

Darcy could not honestly tell you who moves first. Only that they crash together. Bruce is fucking _frantic_ .  He’s rough, but not in a way she could compare to any of her other boys. He’s rough in a way that tells her he’s trying, very hard, to be _gentle_ but missing the mark wildly.  He rips her fucking lab coat open with one pull, mouth never leaving her as buttons skitter access the floor.  He shoves her against the table, kicks her feet apart and pushes two fingers into her without so much as a breath between movements.  

 

      Darcy’s so goddamn wet. She moans into his mouth, hands scrabbling to hold on as he bends her backward over the table.  She lets go of him just long enough to shake out of her lab coat and brace her hands against the table so she can boost herself up   Bruce works her through it, his hands never leaving her as he fits himself between her legs just like Tony had in this very spot.

 

Tony. Tony who’s in his ear. “ _Wait_ ,” Tony huffs, and Darcy has to pull away, panting. “ _Tell him to get the other com.”_

 

Darcy wants to know what Bruce owes Tony, that Tony thinks he’d listen to that kind of command.  “Tony wants you--- the other com,” she pants, pointing at it with her heeled foot. “He wants you...to ---” Bruce twists his fingers inside her, and Darcy forgets what Tony wants for one, blinding moment before he pulls his hand away to fetch the com. “ _Tony_.”

 

Bruce fits the com into his ear and flushes at what he hears. Darcy wonders what Tony’s saying to Bruce when he's not talking to Darcy. What Tony’s been saying. What he said to get Bruce to stay. Or maybe, Darcy things, as Bruce runs a hand down Darcy’s body, between her breast, maybe staying wasn’t such a hardship.  Darcy certainly hadn’t put up much of a fight.

 

 _“Undo his pants,”_ Tony tells her, and Darcy does, with shaking hands. _“Do you want him to fuck your face?”_

 

“I’ll come,” Bruce says and Darcy realizes Tony’s on both their coms now. “I want---”

 

“Whatever you want,” Darcy tells him, dazedly, as she fits her hand around his cock. He’s not as long as Tony, but he’s fat in her hand and so goddamn _hard_.

 

_“I thought I was calling the shots?”_

 

Darcy pulls Bruce closer by his cock, runs the head up and down the wet heat of her cunt. “Anything you want,” she says again, to the both of them really.

Bruce fucks her once, sharp and sudden and Darcy can’t help but clench around him. “Wait - I want--- On your hands and knees, on the table.”

 

“It’s too high,” Darcy begins to say but Tony cuts her off.

 

_“Do what he tells you, princess.”_

So Darcy does.

 

Bruce licks her asshole which, Darcy’s gonna be real, she wasn’t fucking expecting.

 

Tony makes a sound, so breathless and shattered, Darcy feels herself shudder. “Please,” she cries, fingers curling over the edge of the table. “I need---”

 

“ _Fingers_ ,” Tony tells Bruce. “ _She needs something in her. Three_. ”

 

Darcy makes an embarrassed, keening noise because yes, yes that, that would be great.

 

Bruce’s fingers are thick and short and he’s not gentle even though he tries. Darcy fucks back against them, even as he puts his mouth back, and it shouldn’t feel so good but it _does_.  He doesn’t put his fingers on her ass, but she thinks if he tried she might not protest.  She gets a hand underneath her, pushes two fingers in beside his and it’s too much but it hurts so good and the sound Bruce makes - wounded and hot - has her clenching down helpless and wet.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bruce hisses, biting her ass cheek quick and sharp. “Tony--- what. What does she want?”

 

It shouldn't be so hot that Bruce asks Tony instead of Darcy, but it is.

 

“ _Darcy_ .” Tony sounds fucking shattered and she wishes he was there, with them. “ _Ride him.”_

 

They end up on the floor.  Bruce loses his pants eventually, shirt hanging off his shoulders, open and rumpled.  Darcy does ride him, reverse cowgirl, rubbing at her own clit. He grips her ass, pushing her forward and pulling her back.

 

He thumbs her asshole, pushing in just so....and Darcy comes so suddenly she thinks she loses time because when she comes back to herself, Bruce is coming and Tony’s there in front of her on his knees. He pulls her off Bruce who’s nothing but a panting mess, and all but throws her on the floor beside him.

 

“Please,” Tony begs. Tony Stark doesn't ask for shit, but he's begging now  He fits himself between her bare legs, pants pushed to his thighs. “Please, baby, can I?” And yeah, Darcy thinks please do, nodding her head frantically.  And then - Then Tony’s fucking her too - fucking right into the mess Bruce left with none of his usual methodic mastery. He doesn’t last, spilling himself in three easy pumps while Darcy’s hands find themselves in Bruce’s hair and over Tony’s hip respectively.

 

Yeah, Darcy thinks, laying in a tangle on the floor between two, sweaty, panting men.  Darcy likes Tony’s games.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor brings the thunder. Darcy brings the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different. Still 5k words of fucking though. This mostly just shows how fucking Thor is different. 
> 
> It maybe feels like different writing because it's modeled slightly after my own sex life. Not that I'm fucking an alien space Prince.
> 
>  
> 
> Darcy/Thor

    Darcy’s deep in some intense pampering when Jane calls her from her top secret Icelandic Stargazers sweet spot she only secured because Thor had asked, personally.  

 

    She tucks the phone between her ear and elbow, and paints another toe. “What’s the word, Janey?”

 

    Jane sighs, and Darcy misses her viscerally in that moment. Jane’s sighs are somehow bigger than Jane herself. _“Tony said Thor’s wailing on the team.”_

 

Darcy doesn’t need to look out the floor to ceiling windows of Tony’s penthouse to see the heat storm rolling over the city.  She can practically feel the static in the air. 

 

Fat, black clouds burst sporadically in electric purple, refusing to break and spill. New York is hot, impossibly so, dancing on the edge of a draught. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell if Thor’s bringing the thunder, or the thunder’s bringing Thor.”  Darcy suspects it’s some kind of circle jerk of energy.  

 

    _“He’s really worked up,”_ Jane agrees, and Darcy narrows her eyes at the tone of Jane’s voice.  Jane is rarely ever do agreeable. Especially where Tony is concerned. She's been known to argue on principle shove.  _“He’s acting like a Diva.”_

 

    “Ah. Douchebag Thor.” While he’d chilled out significantly since his early days, Thor still doesn't handle being pent up well. It tends to bring out the snotty, high-born prince him.  Thor could, at times, act so entitled he made Tony look like a pleb.  “Why’d Tony call? Besides to tattle.”

 

    _“He was hoping maybe I could reign Thor in a little,”_ Jane hedges, and Darcy paints the last pinky.  Iron Man red because for all that Tony encourages her debauchery, he's somehow strangely possessive. 

 

    “What can you do from Pingvellir?” She caps the bottle and props her feet up on the coffee table.  It’s white and shiny and looks like something you could buy at IKEA but costs as much as a year’s worth of car payments on a Honda Civic.

 

    _“I can send you to distract Thor.”_ Jane speaks without any dissembling. Darcy appreciates that in their friendship. Bluntness is a gift. _“What do you say? Take one for the team? Like, literally?”_

 

    “Let me get this straight.” Darcy leans forward to blow on her toes.  She considers going to change out of her bathrobe, but as she figures she’s going to end up naked anyway, it really doesn’t matter what she wears.  Plus, Thor’s hard on undergarments. The tiny clasps on her bra are always too small for his big fingers, and she’s lost a few good sets to his eager hands. “ _My_ boyfriend called and asked _you_ if you’d ask _me_ to go fuck _your_ boyfriend?”

 

    “Y _eah basically.  You up to it?_ ”

 

    She takes quick stock of her body, stretching her back, and knees. Other than a few bruises from training with Clint, she’s fine. Until today, Steve’s been in DC for the better part of the week, so she hasn’t had anything rough in a while. And really,  Thor makes Steve look vanilla. Thor’s rough when he’s _gentle_. It’s honestly fantastic.  Darcy flexes her calves, and shrugs. “Yeah. Tell Tony I’m gonna need like fifteen minutes to stretch a little.”

 

    “ _Stretch on the way. He’s already crushed the suit onto my body. I’m in the lab trying to fucking pry it off._ ” Tony cuts into the conversation because Tony doesn’t actually understand things like privacy. _“Sparring's just pissing him off more. Steve’s ready to tap Bruce in at this point. If Thor doesn’t chill, it’s not gonna be about calming him down, it’s going to be about knocking him out.”_

 

    Darcy pulls her hair into a hasty ponytail and stretches in the elevator on the way down to the gym.  She can hear the slap of skin against skin, so much like sex, even before she rounds the corner to the rings.

It smells like _men_ , men she fucks; sweat and musk and violence. It’s honestly doing it for her. Her nips are hard against her the silk of her robe, visible without a bra in the cold, over conditioned air.  The silk swishes against her thighs as she walks, softly, across the thick floor mats. 

 

    Thor has Bucky up against the wall by his throat, metal hand scrabbling uselessly at Thor’s wrist.  Darcy watches him throw Steve across the room with his other hand so _easily_ , it makes her breath catch. Darcy struggles to open milk caps some days; Thor is so impossibly strong, stronger even,a than Steve, whose held her up against walls with one hand, no effort. “Will no one offer me a _real_ challenge?”

 

    She can see the line of tension in Thor’s shoulders, the way his muscles swell and bulge beneath his skin.  Thor _looks_ human, the human ideal of perfection, and it’s easy to forget that he’s so much more. Outside, thunder rises and rises but never crests, a constant roaring growl that screams across the sky.  

 

         _Darcy_ doesn't forget that he's a God.  Darcy has, in many ways, adopted him as her own God. But for all that he is _more,_ his decision to make a home of Earth stifles him sometimes. He can’t escape the tortures of his own gift. He is electric heat and hellfire beneath his skin, rising and rising and rising with no release.  Fighting only serves to make his blood pump harder, adrenalin and lightning singing through his veins.  Like any true disciple, Darcy's body answers without permission, heart hammering in her chest. She believes in Thor. 

 

    He’s going to _hurt_ her. She’s going to _love_ it.

 

    “Darce’,” Steve calls out, catching sight of her as she crosses the small gym, eyes wide in surprise. He's looking worse for wear, crumpled against the dented wall. “You can’t---”

 She can. She _will_. 

    “Thor.” Sharp, short, demanding. “Put him down.”

 

His gaze whips around to meet her and he tosses Barnes carelessly at Steve, without so much a word, and Darcy supposes that's fair  She didn't specify how he should put Barnes down.  She watches his hands clench at his side, cape fluttering behind him as he moves to meet her in the center of the room. In his eyes, she _sees_ the lightning, white hot and violent. It's not the first time.  “Darcy.”

 

“Janey called me, Big Guy.”  This close, she can feel the heat coming off him, feel it wash over her own chilled skin.  He doesn’t touch her, just stares down from his permanent mountain of existence.  He looks ready to go to war, and the intensity of it makes her cunt clench, helplessly. She’s seen him like this before, as he’s driven into her with _all_ his might, soft words assuring her she could _take it_ a stark contrast to the brutal snap of his hips.  She licks her lips, and wills herself to focus. “Storms got you all keyed up, huh?”

 

“The storm,” Thor growls, and pushes himself even further into her space.  The press of his body against her own makes her dizzy. Her body knows his, and wants. Barnes a protesting noise, pushing himself to his feet. Thor ignores him. “What lay beyond these windows? It does not compare to the storm inside me.”

 

She touches him, skates a palm down his bare, sweat-soaked bicep, and it's already not enough. Static clings to her fingertips, and Darcy knows she'll cry. It happens with him, the intensity always too much and not enough. “Storm won’t break this way.” She moves his hand to her hip, sucking in a breath when he grips her hard, no preamble, just fierce, biting fingernails, meant to hurt . “You’re hurting your friends. They can't take it.”

 

He’s not gentle when he pulls her to him, crushes her body against his armor, eating up space that wasn't really there to begin with. Her body gives to him. “They will not permit me to leave.”

 

“You’re dangerous like this. They’re worried.” Something’s happening, something bigger than this room, and the people in it.  But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Helping Thor does.

 

“I cannot be contained like this.” His shoulders hunch, so like a feral animal, and she watches the tendons in his neck tighten. “I feel as if I’ll fly out of my skin.”

 

“You can’t beat the shit out of the team,” Darcy tells him, frank and firm, as she puts her hands on him. He pushes into it; his body knows her, too. “It’s not going to help you. Not when you’re supercharged.”

 

“Supercharged. That _is_ how I feel.” He shudders, tension building within him again and Darcy can feel it, vibrating beneath her palms.  “I need _release_.”

 

“This isn’t how you’ll find it.” She grabs his face, digs her fingers into his hair and pulls hard enough to make him hiss. This is how they touch. This is how their bodies talk. “That’s why Janey sent me to you.” It's a code they use, _Jane sent me_.  Jane sends them to eachother.  She tilts her head back, stretches to look up at him. “Surprise!”

 

Thor brushes a finger over her collarbone very, _very_ gently. He is capable of such softness, but it's rarely spent on her.  “Surprise,” he echoes, just as gently, following the line of her silk robe down to her cleavage, to tuck his finger over the knot in the sash “You _are_ a gift.”

 

Darcy grins, rocking up on her tip toes. “Wanna unwrap me?”

 

“Darce, I don’t think----,” Steve begins, and he’s close now, not quite close enough to touch but close enough that Thor takes deep fucking offense.

 

He crushes Darcy _harder_ against him, the bar of his forearm locking behind her back and hauling her up until she’s struggling at the tips of her toes, all the air escaping her lungs even as she scrabbles to hold herself in place. He's hard already, easy as her, fight or fuck instincts taking over. Fight _and_ fuck, really. 

 

“Back off Steve,” Darcy snaps, pulling at Thor’s hair again, toes dancing along the mats as she lets her weight rest against his hold. Thor won't drop her. “He’s not going to take me from you, Big Guy.”

 

Thor laughs darkly, and eyes Steve over the top of her head.  He's only holding her with one hand, the other braced for violence. “As if he could.”

 

“You’re _hurting_ her." Barnes comes from their other side and Darcy doesn’t think it’s very smart of them to box Thor in, right now.

 

“He won’t,” Darcy says, in the same breath that Thor tells them, “But she _likes_ it.”

 

Well. He’s not wrong. Darcy can already feel the heat of her own body responding to his hard touch, Pavlovian and knowing. They don't need to see her like this  She's not ashamed, but she doesn't think they'll understand, Steve and Barnes. “You guys need to leave.”

 

“Darcy,” Steve starts again, but she notices he’s not so close now.   “We know he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose---”

 

"Oh but I will,” Thor cuts him off, squeezing her against him harder, shocking a little moan from her mouth. “Tell him, Princess.”

 

The responding flush of color that steals over her face when he says that nickname? Darcy can’t be held responsible. He’s only ever called her that when he’s been balls deep inside her, and Darcy knows that coming from a Prince? An actual fucking prince? It’s not a simple term of endearment. It's not like when Tony calls her princess (and treats her like one), or even Clint or Steve (seriously). For Thor, Darcy's earned it, but explaining how is...not for polite company.

 (On her back, legs spread, screaming to the stars.)

The arm pinning her back loosens. Thor sinks that hand into her hair, pulling tightly when she doesn’t respond. "Tell him."

 

"I'll like it.” Love it, really. So very, very deeply.  She pulls against his hand when he doesn’t, savoring the sting, not afraid to hurt herself against him even to prove her point. “It’s like when you spank me.”

 

“I don't--” Hurt you, Darcy thinks he means to say, but he isn't given the chance to finish.

 

“You do,” Barnes glowers in his corner. Steve doesn’t reply. “Bunch’a fucking meat-heads pawing at a dame---.”

 

“You guys should go,” Darcy says again, as she feels the sash of her robe pulled free.  It slithers to the ground, even as Thor pushes the robe off her shoulders, one at a time until it flutters to the floor, baring her for all to see. “I’ve got this.”

 

“Princess,” he rumbles, and outside the sky echoes his n sentiment. His hands move, smoothing down her bare back, to grab her ass. Darcy has curves, she's got plenty to grab, but in Thor's hands, it's almost nothing.

Darcy secretly thinks he likes the difference in their shapes.  It makes him look bigger, stronger, even more than he already is. 

 

He doesn't care that they're watching, the threat that they might try and take her only serves to make him hotter. He would fight for her, to have her, and he'd enjoy it. He pets her, finger-tips down her cheeks and over her mouth. Darcy opens without meaning to, licking at his passing skin. He tastes like rain smells.  "Would that you’d come sooner. You’d have spared my team a great deal of pain.”

 

 “How about next time a storm hits, you just come and find me?” She looks at Steve again, even as Thor fits a hand over the back oh her neck. “Steve, I’ve got it under control. You know I can take it.”

 

    “And you take it so well” Thor mutters, and yeah---he’s not gonna wait until Steve and Barnes leave.

Darcy maybe should have really thought this through better.  Barnes makes a noise as Thor puts his mouth on Darcy’s neck, biting kisses into the pale skin. She shoots both him and Cap a very pointed look, tilting her head toward the doors.

 

    Steve fucking _grins_ , and props himself against the support beam, content to stay just right where he is.

 

Which. Well. Color her fucking surprised that Steve wants to watch. Darcy should have been a little more proactive in relocating them before making her offer. But then, Thor might not have left with her, if he hadn’t known what he was leaving for, content to smash on Cap and Barnes. And once knowing, he hadn't intended to wait.  So. Really. It is what it is.

 

“I'll have you here," Thor tells her, and Darcy would think he meant her ass by the way he was gripping her so tightly, but she knows _he_ knows he’ll never fit there.  They’ve tried. It’s a hard no. Alien God Sex Magic will only get him so far, and it won't get him there.

 

“We’re not exactly alone,” Darcy murmurs, tilting her head back so he can kiss along her throat. From the corner of her eye she can see Barnes staring at the floor, mouth pulled into a grim line like he's never seen a naked woman before. 

 

(Something about fucking Thor makes her feel like a _woman_. Not so much a girl.)

 

    Thor pulls her forward, grinding against her. She’s so much smaller than him, it puts the hard line of his cock flush against her soft stomach. “I would have them watch,” he hisses, nipping at her ear. Bunch of fucking perverts, the whole damn lot.

 

Darcy really does love them all.

 

She digs her fingers into his hair and pulls _meanly_ , before biting his jaw hard enough to shock a grunt from his mouth. Thor understands, because he grins, and moves to kiss her breathless.  He likes kissing, likes the fight in it. 

"Divinity desires a Witness, does it not? Let them see. God's are vain. But I am a jealous God, princess. I will not share.” He bites her mouth, before nudging her face so that she’s forced to look at them, Steve and Barnes, only feet away their backs against the wall.  Steve is staring, eyes dark and narrowed. Barnes is still looking at the floor, both hands curled into his fists at his side.

 

Darcy feels hot all over. Surely they won't stay?

 

“Let them witness how you pray to me. Let them see how Gods worship. Let them see me take you, and you take me.” Thor presses his mouth to her ear, speaks slow and sweet.  There is something about the cadence of his words that leave her wet and helpless. They are not, conventionally, sexy bedroom talk but they take her apart regardless.  He _is_ a jealous God, and he’s come to covet her in this moment. “Will they kneel before us, do you think?”

 

Steve’s still looking at her, gaze locked on hers as if waiting for her to give him something.  Permission, and isn't that heady? She nods, so very slowly, teeth clenched. She nods and Steve fucking kneels.

 

This is power, she thinks. Even caught in the hands and gaze of men stronger than she, Darcy knows that she holds the cards. It’s a heady thing, that makes her breathless and weak need. 

 

Barnes doesn’t move.  Darcy forgets him.

 

“Spare me any religion but your body, and I’ll sing my prayers between your thighs until you spend your faith on me.” His hand skates over her skin, grabbing roughly at her breast.  He bites her ear, and his whisper echoes in the quiet of the gym. “Will you be my temple, Princess? _Can I come inside you?_ ”

 

    _Fuck_ , Darcy thinks. “God,” Barnes says, a wounded, choked word spilling like sin.

 

    "They pray, Princess. Do you hear it? I _am_  a God,"Thor hums, biting her jaw. “But when  _you_ say God, you think of me, don’t you Darcy? Do you cry out for me when others have you? I know you do. I can hear it, you know.  All those little prayers in the back of my mind. I can hear you when you come, calling for me, even when another spills himself inside you. You are _faithful_ , love. I can feel it.”

 

 Listen. Just. Okay, _listen_ . As far as dirty talk goes, you’d think it would be weird. But it’s Thor, and it’s fucking _hot_.  It’s gotta be the strangest way anyone’s ever asked to fuck her raw, but--- yeah. It’s working for her.  He means it when he says he’ll worship her. Sex with Thor is religion.

 

(He is a fertility God, and it's not just about harvest. Darcy never forgets.)

 

“ _Thor_ ,” she hisses, tilting her head back. She feels empty, like she always does when his hands are on her, but he’s not in her. “Please.” Her body knows what the future holds, and she needs it. " _Please_."

 Beyond her, Steve sucks in a sharp, shocked breath. 

 

    Thor grabs her hair at the base of the ponytail and yanks so hard her back bows. He moves his hand between her legs, and works three fingers into her all at once.  It hurts - it’s really too much - but God, she _needs_ it.  Her knees give out and she pulls against the hand holding her hair. Pain is a pulse between her thighs, pushing her further toward white hot pleasure.

 

“Stop,” Barnes cries out.  Darcy doesn’t understand why he’s still here. Steve, yeah, Steve’s a fucking pervert. Barnes though, why is he still here? “You can’t---You’re hurting her.”

 

“She _likes_ it,” Thor hisses, pulling her hair again. Darcy pulls against it, feels her breath catch.  He’s not wrong.  “This is prayer. Blood and body, I'll have both. Tell your friend, Captain Rodgers. Surely you know. I've seen the marks you leave behind. We call them hommage, Darcy's battle marks.”

 

Darcy frowns insofar that she can, caught in the grip of his hand and the pleasure curling between her thighs. Words. She needs words. “No discussing my kinks like I’m not here.”

 

“She likes it when I spank her,” Steve offers, and Barnes chokes on his own breath like he hadn’t accused them of as much five minutes ago. “I didn’t know she liked her hair pulled. Something to remember, I suppose.”

 

Jesus Christ.

 

“I’ll not share her,” Thor tells him, frankly, like he doesn't have her riding his hand like a fucking puppet. “Tonight, anyway.”

 

“Excuse you, you don’t share me, I share me.” She’s honestly not sure she could handle Thor and Steve at the same time but maybe she’d like to try anyway.  Later. Tomorrow. Tonight?

 

    “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you won’t hurt her,” Barnes growls, and Thor doesn’t seem to care, working his fingers in and out of her with _force_. Darcy's clinging to his shoulders, rising up on her toes as she does her best to ride him like this. To take everything he's given her, and just a little bit more.  “You threw Steve into a _wall_. You’re hardly in control of your own strength.”

   

    “I don’t want to bed Steve,” Thor says, quite reasonable for someone with half a fist up her cunt. “Besides, she knows my strength. She’s _made_ to take it. Look at her, mewling for more already.  I've never bed someone who took me better.”

 

    Darcy, _impossibly,_  blushes at that. “For someone who was so keyed up, he bested two super soldiers at once, you’re doing an awful lot of talking. Maybe you don’t need me at all.”

 

    She’s not really sure what happens next, only that one minute she’s in his arms, the next she’s flat on her back in the center of the mats, Thor making space between her spread thighs.  The impact knocks the wind from her, and she moans, long and hard, bright spots dancing in her gaze. He _threw_ her, just to taunt them. 

 

“I need you,” he assures, running rough hands up her flanks once, before moving to unlace the plaquet of his leather pants. “But mostly I _want_ you. I want to break my storms inside you.”

 

Shouldn't be hot, but _God_. It is.

 

    “They’re _watching.”_ She’s not embarrassed by what she does with her boys. Not in the slightest. She’s just not entirely sure she wants them to see what Thor does to her. What she becomes, beneath him.  It is _alien._

 

    He wrestles both her wrists above her head with a single hand and pins her in place with the bulk of his weight. It hurts, the small bones grinding together, but Darcy pushes against the hold, asking for more, more pain or pleasure (it all becomes one).

 

“I don’t care. Cosmic intervention couldn’t keep me from sinking into your pretty cunt, princess. Two mere mortals watching will not hinder me. They should see you when you cry. They should know how strong you are.”  A fourth finger pushes into her, and Darcy screams a little.  She’s losing bits of herself already, thighs falling open freely, as she pushes into his hand.

   

    “You can’t just---”

 

    “Buck,” Steve cuts in, and Darcy tips her head to see he’s holding Barnes back, even from his place kneeling on the floor before them. Tears fall from the corners of her eyes, even as her body begs for more.  “Head back. I’ll stay and make sure Thor keeps himself in check.”

 

    Thor laughs into her throat and presses words into her ear. “As if he could.” He hadn't taken his cock out, and Darcy wants so badly to touch it.

She's  _wet_ \- has been since the idea of fucking Thor was presented because yeah, Darcy’s that easy.  He hasn’t even touched her clit and she knows she’s going to come. But then, Thor knows too.

 

    Barnes is still growling. “---just wanna join ‘em, fucking animals. She doesn’t need both you both _pawing_  at her like she’s nothing but a----”

 

    “Just see him try it,” Thor sings against her breast, as he cups his fingers inside her. Darcy cries, eyes closed tightly shut. She’s going to come, she’s going to come just like this, he’s going to _pull_ the fucking orgasm out of her. Call it to him like fucking lightning, and she will obey because like this? Her body is his and it does as he tells her. She is a vessel beneath him, filled with only pleasure.  “As if I’d let him have her so easily.”

 

    “---I’ll fuckin’ stay too,” Barnes finishes and Darcy---yeah. Darcy should be more...uh. Something. About that. But Thor’s curling his fingers so _meanly_ , fucking them in and out of her...She doesn’t fucking care.

 

    Thor releases her wrists,pushes up to his knees and draws her spread thighs over his own.   Darcy scrabbles against the mat, struggles to keep herself in place, to push back against him, to take more because she can - she can take more. She wants it. She _needs_ it. His thumb glances over her clit with every rough thrust and it’s---it’s almost enough.  It’s almost too much, really.

 

    When Thor speaks, it takes her a moment to realize he’s not talking to her. He’s talking to _them_ . “I am the Thunder God,” he growls, licking sweat from between her bouncing tits. His free hand spans over her lower belly, and she braces for the push. “But my princess makes it _rain_.”

 

    Darcy hears it, the clap of thunder that seems to rattle the entire building. She _feels_ it, like it’s struck her very core, and she knows in that moment what he means because when she comes it’s with a sudden, white-hot _rush_ that leaves her blinded and breathless  Her back bows, arching up off the mat and her thighs close around his hand but it doesn’t stop. It’s not the first time he’s made her squirt, but it’s just as _devastating_.

 

Darcy _screams_. Outside, lightning shakes the sky. 

 

    “I didn’t know she could do that,” Steve says, somewhat faintly, from her left.

 

    “For me, she does."  Thor paints a trail of wetness up her body between her breasts with the four fingers that were inside her. He feeds them to her, makes her open wide and obscene, and sucking is a fucking reflex at this point.  Her body does it, without her telling it too. "I need her wet."

Her thighs spread, and her cunt clenches and she pushes into his every touch.  She’s barely Darcy anymore. She's _Princess_.

 

    This is what Thor _does_ .  Little by little, thrust by thrust, Darcy melts away until all she is, is pure _hedony_ ; needy, whimpering, helpless pleasure.  They’re watching, and Darcy’s just so far gone to no longer care. She spreads her legs wide and pushes her hips up, demanding he touch her.  It puts her on display, and Thor pets her cunt, where he kneels between her thighs. She trembles with every aftershock that quakes her body.

 

He doesn’t wait for her to recuperate, prefers her to find no space between one orgasm and another. He rolls her, tips her so her ass is half presented, even though her backs still pressed against the mats. He likes it like this, where he can watch her tits bounce but still see her split wide on his cock.

“Oh _God_ ,” she cries, throwing her head back hard against the mats. “Oh fuck. Oh God. _Thor_.”

 "Mm. Pray for me, Princess," he teases, spreading her wider apart with his hands so he can watch himself fit inside her. 

    She feels so fucking tiny, when he pins her like this.  He wraps himself around her, covers her, covets her. Makes room for himself where there should be none. Darcy is possessed like this, divinity making a home within her. 

    “Little Darcy,” he hums, pushing into her with one smooth thrust after another. It’s still too much, and she cries out and from the corner of her eye, she sees Barnes lurch forward.

 

    Steve stops him, pulls him to his knees. They look like two little boys, kneeling for communion. Blood and Body, sweat and tears. _God. God. God._

 

    “Midgard forgot us, all but you."  He leans forward to cradle her head in his hand, force her to look at him. "But you are enough to keep me." Her body is made for this.  She was carved by the Gods to take me.  We blessed the Earth by a harvest moon and she took it so perfectly, a little Warrior Princess made for _impact_ .” Thor speaks as if she isn’t there, and Darcy’s never been one to look too deeply into her kinks but it’s just like when Bruce asked Tony what she wanted. It’s so dismissive, it’s --- she _likes_ it.  She is only there to feel. He speaks like they know her better than she knows herself and perhaps there’s merit to the theory because Thor steals the pleasure right from her body, pleasure Darcy didn’t know existed. “She is so small, and yet---” He _grinds_ into her, thighs slapping loudly against her ass. “She makes room for me.”

 

    She’s going to come again. So very easily, she’s going to come just like this. She’s going to come for nothing but his brutish, rough, thrusts and the clench of her own thighs against her clit and it’s going to _devastate_ her just as much as the first and she’s going to love it.

 

 _Hedony_.  

 

    Thor doesn’t give her pleasure. He r _ips_ it out of her and fucks it right back in. He takes it from her and makes it his own and gives it back and owns it just the same.  Here, like this, she feels nothing that isn't him.

 

    When her body begins to slip against the floor, he pins her in place, one braced over her shoulder against the mat, the other grasping at her hip. Pushing up on his knees, it gives him new leverage, and he fucks her a little harder, earning a new spill of cries from her lips. He grasps her hair where it falls over his hand, and pulls hard. Darcy feels herself clench around him. She’s so fucking close, she just needs---She needs--- He pulls again, hard enough to make her neck stretch and her breath catch.

 

    “That’s too mu ----”

 

    Not enough, Darcy thinks, wishing she could push against Thor, wishing he’d put her on her knees so she could brace herself against the mats and fuck him back.  She scrabbles for his hands, holds hard against his wrist. “More,” she growls, because she can take it. She _needs_ it.

 

Her tits are bouncing in a way that would usually make her self-conscious but she doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care about the dimples in her thighs. She doesn’t care about the little rolls on her back that seem more pronounced when she’s twisted like this. She doesn’t care that her tits aren’t perky, weighted down by size and force. She cups them in her hands, roughly, nails biting into her own skin and it _hurts_ so good, she wants more.  “I need--- I need----”

 

“What, baby? What do you need?”

 

It’s Steve that asks, and it sends a rush of mixed signals to Darcy’s brain, and she can’t help the broken moan that escapes her.  Steve's voice, and Thor's body; it's too much.

 

“Tell him, princess,” Thor says roughly, breaking every syllable with a sharp, shocking thrust.

 

“More,” she hisses, scoring lines down her chest with her own nails. “Harder, harder, harder---”. The new bite of pain does it, and she comes on a cry so loud it echoes in her own ears but Thor's not done, he fucks her through it, over it, past it.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Barnes hisses, fingers biting into Steve’s shoulder. “That’s enough. She can’t--- She’s too small---”

 

“She can go again.” Steve sounds fucking breathless like he’s never fucked Darcy up a fucking wall.

 

“It’s too much,” Barnes argues, and Darcy thinks it’s strange he thinks his opinion means much when he’s the only one in the room to have never fucked her.

 

Thor rips himself away and her pleasure goes with him, leaving her so achingly empty, she begins to _cry,_ for real. Salty, honest tears escape the corners of her eyes and Thor licks them as he gathers the bottom half of her body into his lap. “I’m not done with you, Darcy. I’m not done,” he assures her, sweetly even as he impales her on his cock.

 

Darcy sighs. It is a sound of perfect relief that has no place in the violence of their fucking.  It’s chased by echoing cries, each one fucked right up and out of her as he hooks his hands under her thighs and fucks her over his cock. Darcy sobs, shuddery aching cries. 

 

This, this Darcy can work with.  She gets her arms beneath her and digs her nails into the mats as she pushes herself up to meet his thrusts.  

 

“Is it a battle that you want?” Thor asks, sounding breathless as she forces herself down against his upward thrust. “That’s it, Princess. _Take me._ ”

 

She rolls her hips, toes braced against his calves for leverage and does her best to make it _hurt_. She meets him for every thrust, fills herself in the feeling.  

 

It’s no easy feat to curl her body up, even as he moves her, but Darcy does, throwing her hands around his neck and pulling herself close.  She rides him, hard and fast, the sweat of their bodies stealing her traction.  He's upright, kneeling with her in his lap, and he lets her fuck herself on him.  Her arms ache where she's pulling herself up against his shoulders, body burning.

She needs more, and he laughs at her small, furious growl, lets her push him back and tumble him to the mats.  On her knees now, she has more strength and she puts it all into fucking herself down on him.  She raises herself to the tip and falls on his _cock_ , hands still skating over her own body, worshipping herself.  She touches her cunt, feels where she's split wide and grinds against her own palm as she comes so easy, in another wet rush.

 

_“Oh my god.”_

 

It isn’t her. It isn’t even Steve. It’s Barnes, and Darcy doesn’t know what to make of that.

 

Thor doesn’t allow her to have control long. He flips them, throwing her to the mats hard enough to jar her, black spots dancing in her vision.  When he leaves her body, it isn't gently. He's panting, sweat painting his body and Darcy wants him back inside her so badly it hurts.  “On your knees.”

 

She struggles to breathe as she struggles to obey because she knows what he wants and she knows---

 

She opens her mouth without asking.

 

He feeds her his cock, inch by inch, slowly at first, fitting his fist around the few inches she can’t take.  With his other hand, he pulls her ponytail free so he can work his hand into the bulk of her hair and _own_ the way her mouth works his cock.

 

This wasn’t really what bedding Thor had been about when they’d first fallen into the sheets together.  Thor had come to her because Jane had suggested that Darcy could handle the parts of Thor that she herself could not.  The rougher pleasures that he craved.  It hadn’t been about giving herself over so very freely to the things he did to her, but it had become that.  When Thor said she was made for him, she could almost believe it in these moments when they fit together like this. When it felt like worship.

 

He fucks her face while Steve and Barnes watch and Darcy gets herself off with a hand between her own thighs.  Outside, the storm moves closer, swallowing up the tower in black, thunderous clouds.  Darcy can feel them, rumbling against the windows.  He's  _so_ close.  But he won't come like this.

 

The fucker was drawing it out on purpose. 

 

She tears her mouth away and rakes her nails down his thighs hard enough to leave angry red marks.  When he moves to open her mouth again, she bares her teeth, snapping at him. 

He laughs, and the fire in his eyes burns brighter,  lightning painting the room in electric white.

 

He shoves her backward, sending her sprawling in an ungainly heap.  Barnes cry of protest goes largely ignored, even as Thor falls back between her thighs. Darcy reaches up and grabs him by a fist full of hair, forcing him to meet her mouth in an angry, biting kiss.

 

Thor likes _kissing_. More than any of her boys. Too much, he admitted.  The bite of her kiss could make him come, at the right point.

 

He tears himself from her mouth, hand cupped over the back of her neck as he presses their foreheads together. “Kneel," he whispers, kissing her sweetly. 

 

Oh. _Oh please_.

On your knees and kneel did not mean the same thing.

 

Thor pulls away, sitting back on his haunches as Darcy _presents herself_.  There's no other word for it 

 

She faces away from him (toward Steve and  Barnes, but that wasn't important) and lowers herself to her knees, bracing the weight of her body against her forearms, as she presses her forehead against the floor, legs together, ass up. 

 A blasphemous prayer pose, she can feel the cold air against her cunt.  

 

Thor touches her first, fucks his fingers back into her, but Darcy does not dare move.  With his other hand, he summons Molijer from it's place lodged in the wall. The metallic sound that cuts through the air makes her shiver in anticipation.

 

“Where?”

 

Where does she want it? Briefly, she considers asking if she can ride it (again), but she's not sure Barnes could handle it.  She doesn't want to say where. Doesn't want to say the words. “like... Like the time on the roof.”

 

Thor laughs, a singularly hot and haughty sound. “That's a fond memory for me too.”He balances the wide head of the hammer between her shoulder blades, handle running parallel down her spine to her hips.

 

Just like that, Darcy's pinned.

 

“ _Hell_ ,”Steve hisses. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”  She can't look at him like this, but Gods, does she want too.

 

(She knows, somewhere, Tony's watching.)

 

This time, when he fucks into her, it is with _purpose_. “One more,” Thor bites out, grasping her hips,, and raising her ass to meet his thrust. The hammer does not move, and Darcy's whole body tightens in protest and pleasure. “One more will break me.”

 

“I _can’t._ ”  Darcy can't come again because she already is. She never really stopped.  She arches, pushing against the weight of Molijer, arms slipping against the mat.

 

“You will,” Thor tells her, warns her, promises her. “Take it from me, Princess. _Take it._ ”

 

It's the angle, or the pull, or the static cling.  Darcy feels the storm outside shift and build within her.

 

She feels the snap of her own body, like she’s been struck by all the lightning within him and like he promisee, she comes, loud and hard and blinding.

 

Thor comes too.  Outside, it begins to rain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Thor's pon far harvest Moon fucking was so fruitful, she earned a title as Earth Princess by asguard. Princess is also her pet name from Thor, a way for him to tell her she's so very, very good for him. Darcy is his warrior princess.
> 
>  
> 
> I used some lines from a song I wrote in this. 
> 
> let me be your jealous god  
> And you be my disciple  
> worship no other before me  
> and let me be your idol  
> i can be your temple  
> And you can come inside me  
> on your knees, blessed be  
> Singing my praise nightly
> 
> Spare me all religion  
> Save the one between your thighs  
> And summon my holy spirit  
> On your breathless broken cries
> 
> I can be your jealous god  
> And you can sacrifice  
> Blood and body, water and wine  
> And any other vice


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How you feeling, kiddo?” 
> 
> “Like I’ve been fucked by an alien space prince.” She grins, rolling to her side to face him. “Did you watch?” 
> 
> “I came in my fucking pants right about the time you started crying and was hard again by the time he pinned you with the hammer.” Tony’s not in the least bit apologetic, and Darcy appreciates that. There’s nothing to be sorry for here. “Still don’t believe you’re not sore.” 
> 
> “Alien space prince sex has it’s benefits.” She shifts back to her back and hooks her thumbs into her panties to shove them down. “It’s too bad he’ll never fit in my ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously I love Tony and Darcy. Warning, she calls him daddy a tiny bit in this.
> 
> Darcy/Tony

When Darcy wakes, silver blue light is pouring across the room; early morning shine made somehow cleaner by the steady rush of rain. Dew drops clinging to the floor to ceiling windows cast a million thousand rainbows across the walls, like technicolor glitter. Darcy stretches and marvels at the absolute absence of pain.

Thor is a God. He is her god.

He’s seated at the edge of her bed, mouth pulled into a small corner smile. “Good morning, Princess.”

“Save that name for sex,” Darcy mutters, brushing loose curls from her face. She’s in Tony’s room, and she takes a moment to marvel how she can naked in Tony’s bed, having just fucked his metaphorical battle brother. Tony had collected her from Thor’s arms (walking wasn’t an option in the moment) and bathed her himself, with heat in his eyes that told her he would wait to have his moment with her, but he would have it. They would have it.

 

This is her life now. It’s a good life.

Thor snorts, and fixes her hair for her, brushing it behind her ears and moving it so that it lays neatly on her shoulders. Darcy pushes into the soft touch, knows that it pleases him to take care of her after their.... _worship_.

“It is no name. It is a title. And as a Prince, it would be rude of me to address you as anything else. We are equals.”

“Oh my God, we are _not_.” There’s irony in that statement, and Thor smiles just enough to tell her he hasn’t missed it. “Maybe in bed.”

“You’re more than what you do on your back,” Thor tells her, very seriously. Far more seriously than their afterglow permits. “And if I’ve made you feel as such, I must repent.”

“I’m not ready for you to repent yet,” she says, with a laugh. “Although I feel fucking fantastic. I’m just not sure my lady bits can take it.”

With an arched brow, Thor runs a hand over her thigh from above the covers. “Your body will take everything I give it, and love it.”

“Well you’re not wrong, but if you try to fuck me right now, the team’s gonna come down on you like holy fire and you’re tough Big Guy, but you’re not supercharged right now.”

“You’re not wrong,” Thor echoes, still smiling. “James took it out of me, as you say, this morning. He doesn’t quite understand the nature of our coupling. Steven has done his best to explain.”

“The nature of our coupling,” Darcy says, primly, which is laughable. “No one will ever understand, not really.  Unless they're also fucking alien royalty.”

"Divine alien royalty," Thor corrects, with a smile. It’s soft and for her and she cherishes it. “I am very lucky to have you. I thought myself quite blessed already, to have Jane. To love Jane. And then I found you.”

Darcy knows Thor isn’t professing his undying love for her. That he isn’t about to make what they have awkward. He really does just cherish her.  God and disciple . “I’m not really a Princess.”

“You are.” Thor believes it, even if Darcy doesn’t quite understand why. “When you laid with me beneath the harvest moon, I only expected to enjoy the night. But when our joining resulted in a _spectacular_ blessing, it became clear that you are my match. An equal.” He pauses. "In your own words, it takes two to tango."

“I’m very good at sex.” In truth, they’d turned all of New York fucking green. Harvest had meant harvest. Spring had come early. Flowers had crept up into every crack in the sidewalk and Central Park was a riot of color and fluttering butterflies. Butterflies that hadn’t existed before. Darcy is, on some cosmic plane, the mother of butterflies. It’s embarrassing.

“True. You’re probably a Goddess,” Thor throws down, offhandedly. The nonchalance is its own warning.  “Such things can come and go with generations. Midgard had them, once upon a time. Whose to say it does not still? Indeed, you could very well be my sister, which would make you both a princess _and_ a Goddess."

“Princess,” Darcy matches, hurriedly because holy shit no. “I’m a motherfucking Princess. I’m not a Goddess. Or your sister, holy shit.”

Thor grins, and Darcy chooses to believe he was bluffing with the Goddess shit just to get his way  She's not his sister. She’s not a Goddess. That’s nonsense.Maybe she is a Princess. He teases with the truth, after all. "Princess,” he agrees. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing as ever.” Darcy always feels good after fucking Thor. She always feels good after fucking anyone, but she feels _amazing_ after taking Thor. Healed, even. Divine. She shouldn’t. She should hurt all over, and be covered in bruises but she never is.

“My gift to you,” Thor assures her, like always.  Healing is a blessing. “One day, I should bring the apples of Iðunn. One drop should last you all your life, but not yet. Perhaps when I return.”

“Return.” Darcy swallows, knows already that Jane’s going to be a fucking wreck. “You’re going back.”

“The storms from last night are Ritual.” He smiles faintly. “The shifting of powers. Did you feel it?”

The last, blinding moment, when she’d felt absolutely struck. “Yeah?”

“Odin has sent me a gift,” Thor’s smile is still faint. Curious. “Without Asgard to ground me, I could not accept it. But you were a conduit, and through you I was made more. You’ve done me a very great service. I am in your debt.”

Darcy doesn’t want to think about that, and so she doesn’t. “What was the gift?”

“Power. My father is dying. Not soon, but it has been Weaved and it is now Known. My path is not for Asgard, and we are unsure what that means for my realm. I am meant to be here, but I am named King. We must prepare for where the paths stray.” He hesitates, if only for a moment, before leaning to kiss her. It isn’t something they do, outside of sex, but Darcy doesn’t deny him. He tastes like apples, and she thinks she wouldn’t mind having him again. He laughs, no doubt knowing what she’s thinking of. “I will visit Jane before I depart for Asgard.”

“Thank God,” Darcy huffs, swallowing when he kisses her neck. This is--- new. They don’t do this. She’s not sure she doesn’t want too though. _Worship no other,_ she thinks. This is her God. “I’ll take care of her while you’re gone.”

“I know you will.” Thor cups her cheek. “I’d trust no other warrior to guard my Jane. But I do worry, who cares for you.”

“Tony.” It’s true enough. Tony orbits her, a vicious moon. He even loves her, Darcy thinks. “He let you in here, didn’t he?”

“As if he could stop me. I do not know how long I’ll be gone, but I would leave you with this advice. Take Seargent Barnes to bed. He’s a bit mad for you.”

Darcy laughs, bright and sharp. “Isn’t he just? He’s not there yet, though. Still thinks I’m an immoral hussy bent on ruining every man around me.”

“He was very worried for you,” Thor tells her, solemnly. “And he’s very wroth with me.”

“Yeah well, watching me be roughly fucked by someone more than twice my size and enjoy it probably won’t endear me to him.”

“Oh, he enjoyed it just as much for all his worrying.” Thor brushes the strap of her tank top off her shoulder and then follows the neckline of the fabric over the curve of her breast so he can knock the other strap down too. “Especially when you mounted me and took your pleasure. I do not deny him that it was a...striking sight. You are magnificent.”

“If you’re not going to fuck me again, you really need to go so I can get Tony down here.” Tony’s appreciation for fucking her after someone else already had was a fucking blessing.

“I am tempted,” Thor admits. “But I haven’t the time to have you properly and I’ll subject you to nothing short of worship. Perhaps when I return. I imagine I’ll need you at least once before I can take Jane.”

That. That’s how it began between them. Fucking Thor’s sharper desires away so that he might bless Janey more softly, sweetly.

***

Tony creeps in right as Thor creeps out, and she knows he’s been listening. She pulls back the covers so that he can slip in beside her. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“Like I’ve been fucked by a divine alien space prince.” She grins, rolling to her side to face him. “Did you watch?”

“I came in my fucking pants right about the time you started crying and was hard again by the time he pinned you with the hammer.” Tony’s not in the least bit apologetic, and Darcy appreciates that. There’s nothing to be sorry for here. “Still don’t believe you’re not sore.”

“Alien space prince sex has its benefits.” She shifts back to her back and hooks her thumbs into her panties to shove them down. “It’s too bad he’ll never fit in my ass.”

“I fit in your ass,” Tony notes, already moving between her thighs. She knows he really just wants to make sure she’s okay, but she’s really going to have to insist he make her come while he’s down there. “Bruce would fit in your ass. How do you feel about DP? I’m not even picky where you let me put it.”

“That statement is always true.”

He shoves his shoulders between her thighs and spreads her wide with both hands. It's shocking, jarring, and Darcy squirms. “Pretty in pink,” he declares, spreading her farther. “Prettiest pink I’ll ever see.” His touch is exploratory like he doesn’t know her pussy inside and out, and strangely clinical. He really is just looking, to look. Fucker.

“Do you have a doctor kink I didn’t know about?”

“I didn’t, but I’m willing to reconsider.” He grins at her from between her legs and presses a kiss right above her clit. “You know I just love looking at you. All of you, but especially this.”

“You love how much I hate it.” It makes her squirm to be so exposed. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling. Makes her feel hot, and cold, all at once.

“Yeah but you love how much you hate it too.” He licks her, right between where his thumbs have her spread, right over her clit. Darcy sighs. “I don’t understand how he can fit in you. You’re so tiny here.”

“Alien space prince magic.” Realistically, when Thor fucks her the way he does, her cervix should be bruised black and blue but it never is. She really can take him. “How am I looking, doc?”

“Fucking delicious.” He fits his mouth over her and licks at her clit gently, ignoring everything else and it’s good but it’s torture too, after being so full. She can feel herself flutter, and clench and the wanton feeling of her own desperate cunt makes her wetter. Tony’s still holding her open and laughs against her. “You are so easy.”

“Well then, we’re well suited.” She tangles her hands in his hair and pushes back but he’s still not giving her what he wants. “Jesus Christ, you’re being mean. Can I just sit on your face?”

Tony makes a truly wounded noise, and scrambles up from her pussy, mouth wet around his clenched teeth. “Like Clint in the gym?” Ah yes. That had been one of his favorites.

“I will ride your face,” Darcy promises and watches as he curls himself back over the bed, shoving the pillows out of her way in one quick rush. “Damn daddy, you should have asked me sooner.”

Tony closes his eyes, a sharp breath escaping him. “Do not call me that right now.” It’s not a real reprimand. It just works a little too well, like kissing Thor. Her boys have triggers, and Darcy knows them all. “Just get up here.”

Tony is better at oral than anyone on the face of the fucking planet. Maybe it’s because he spends so much time marveling at the sound of his own voice, but his tongue is strong and he never tires. Darcy fits herself over his face and remembers how much he loves the softness of her thighs when he grips them with trembling hands.

She uses the headboard for leverage, pulling herself forward to grind against his open mouth and ---shit. He doesn’t pull against her like Clint had. Clint had forced her to ride him, beautiful, wicked, terrible man that he was. Tony’s making her do it her damn self. She grips him by the hair, and tilts his head forward, changing the angle as she widens her stance and lowers herself a little harder.

Tony groans against her. Even that feels good.

“Tony, I need---” But he’s already pressing two fingers into her, knowing what she needs before she does and Darcy pushes back against them, lost between the sensation of him working her clit and the fullness his fingers provide. Never together, she works herself back and forth between the sensations and it is maddening. But so good. It’s always so goddamn good. She pulls his hair harder, grinding down and pushing back and he hums against her.

When she comes, it shivers through her, and she almost can’t stop the helpless roll of her hips as she chases every drop of pleasure down. Tony’s panting beneath her, as he bites along her thigh. “Babe,” he grits, before _lifting her up and dropping her on his dick._

Tony’s not a God. Tony’s not a super soldier. Tony’s a mortal, made of muscle and hard work and it makes him more, somehow, sometimes. Human strength earned the hard way. “Ride me,” he demands, arms snapping to grip the bottom of the headboard.

She doesn’t do it like she had with Thor, rising up and falling upon him. That had been with the intent to hurt.  But this? 

This time, she rolls her hips, sinuous little circles that make his thighs twitch beneath her. “Damn,” he curses, back arching, hips moving to meet her. His gaze is locked where their bodies meet. “Come on, come on, fuck---”

Ah, Darcy thinks, throwing herself back to braces her hands against his ankles. He wants to _see_. The muscles in her thighs burn, but Darcy lifts her hips, and ---shit. The angle drags the fat head of his cock against her g spot, and she rides it out like that, while he watches his cock disappear inside her. She could come like this, the angle is fucking working-- but it’s too much for Tony. He won't last, has been on edge since last night. He's waited, so patiently, to have her. 

“Dammit, fucking hell, I wanted to---.” He comes like he doesn’t mean too like he can fight it, but his hands pull her down on him one last time as he shudders into her. “Fuck. _Darcy_.”

He spills her onto her back and works his finger back inside her, chasing pleasure she almost lost like a fucking pro. He hammers into, and Darcy swears she wasn’t a squirter until she started fucking the Avengers. No one's ever played her body so well, like these boys. 

Tony licks her, even after she’s come, burying his face in their commingled mess.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So. Tony, me, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and sometimes Phil,” Clint echoes back, repeating the names like he’s reading vowels in kindergarten. A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have enough 
> 
> Darcy/Clint

 

“So let me get this straight,” Clint reasons, from his end of the couch in Tony’s den. It’s sort of Darcy’s den now too, but she’s still acclimating to the idea. “You’re dating Tony, but fucking me, Steve, and Thor, who's dating Jane Foster, who's totally cool with it.”

 

“Thor fucks _me_ ,” Darcy corrects because that’s largely the appeal of Thor and also Darcy gets a little thrill saying it out loud. “But yeah. Pretty much. I mean, sometimes I fuck Phil, if he’s around. Tony gets really rough when he catches me. It’s great.”  

 

Clint’s hand spasms a little, where it's cupping the heel of her foot. “Go Phil.”

 

Darcy busies herself with picking the m&ms out of the trail mix propped on her stomach. Dutifully, she sets every green one she finds aside for Clint. “He likes to fuck me from behind so I don’t see when he breaks Agent Face. And you forgot Bruce. I mean, only the once, but I think that’s more scheduling logistics than any disinclination on his part.” Bruce is totally down for Round Two.  

 

“So. Tony, me, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and sometimes Phil,” Clint echoes back, repeating the names like he’s reading vowels in kindergarten. A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y.

 

“I mean I don’t keep a roster.” Although, in the back of her mind, she keeps a space for Bucky.  They’re probably going to hate fuck, and it’s going to be amazing.  He can spew all the judgy nonsense he wants. For a man who doesn’t want to fuck her, he sure does stick around to listen/watch an awful lot. “Steve’s bringing his buddy Sam to New York next week. He keeps mentioning it; I think he’s angling for a threesome.  But I can’t tell if he wants me to fuck Sam or he wants to fuck Sam, to be honest. He’s just so nice sometimes, it’s hard to tell.”

 

“I did not expect Captain America to be so kinky.” He works his thumb into the ball beneath her pinky toe and Darcy might moan a little.

 

Darcy separates out another green m&m for him, setting it with the others amassing in a pile on the small of her belly.  She’s absolutely naked, though Clint’s fully dressed.  Darcy never thought she’d find being naked empowering but her life has taken her to new and strange places. She’s never felt so confident in the soft swell of her stomach, or the thick curves of her thighs. It’s clearly working for her, and a number of other people.

 

“I don’t fuck Captain America. I fuck Steve.” She grins, flicking a gross raisin aside in the bag. “Although, if Steve would like to wear the suit, I could make room for the Cap on my dance card.”  

 

Clint works his thumb up the arch of her foot, mouth pursed.  Darcy doesn’t tell him she thinks it’s cute how intense he gets, deft, precise hands working her over. It’s honestly adorable.  “I heard when Barnes called you a slut, you told him you were actually a super slut.”

 

“Natasha’s such a gossip.”  Darcy’s long since accepted anything she tells Nat, will get back to Clint, and vice versa. “But yeah. You should have seen his face. He always looks so fucking scandalized. But I mean, I kind of am. A super slut. Slut for supers.”

 

“And super good at it.” He winks at her, no judgment.

 

He doesn’t really think she’s a slut, and neither does Darcy. The word is shadowed by too much shame, and she’s anything but ashamed.  She’s just having fun, and making time, with a number of buff, hunky superheroes. What the hell is there to be ashamed of?  Shit, Darcy’s proud. If Phil wouldn’t come down on her with the power of a thousand Mew Mews, she’d have a Tumblr dedicated to all the ways they fit between her thighs, _Phil included._

 

As it is, she was pretty shocked to get a relationship request from Tony on Facebook. She’s facebook official with Tony Stark. Her life is such nonsense.  Beautiful, sweet, orgasmic, _nonsense_.

 

He abandons her feet, scooping up the whole little pile of green m&m’s and shoveling them all into his mouth at once.  There’s a curious expression on his face, pinched and thoughtful, as he stares down at the glossy purple on her toes and crunches his candy before swallowing, only half masticated. Guys are gross.  “I gotta say. I never thought my life would turn out like this.  Fuckin’ New Mexico.”

“Right?” Darcy tosses her trail mix on the coffee table and swings her feet out of his lap. “I was in it for six college credits and I got a Tony Stark for a sugar daddy and a harem instead.” Clint coughs on the word harem, but he doesn’t argue it."You got anywhere to be?"

He leans back, arms stretched over the back of the couch. "No place important. What about you?"

"Well, I am all dressed up for---"

Clint laughs, low and easy. "Naked _does_ look good on you, doll."

 

Darcy curls herself up on the couch, moving to kneel beside him.  She turns his face with the palm of her hand and kisses him, sweetly once, before opening her mouth to his.  He makes a surprised little noise, curling one hand over her hip and around her back to pull her into his lap. 

His jeans are rough against her thighs, and Darcy grinds down, just to feel his fingers bite into her hips.  He kisses down her jaw, and neck and Darcy gets her own hands on her tits, holding them just the way he likes as he kisses down them too.

 

“Damn,” he sighs looking down her body, glassy-eyed like she hasn’t been naked this whole time.  He’s pulling her down against him by her hips, in a semblance of sex. “You got six of us on leashes and we’ll never be enough.” It could sound incriminating, insulting, but she knows Clint’s just saying he thinks she’s so much _more_ .   _They’re_ not enough for her. It isn’t true, but hearing him say it is sweet. A heady little thrill shoots through her, vanity and lust. Her boys are very good for the ego, or very bad depending on how you look at it. “ _Christ_ , Darce.”

She slips out of his hands, off his lap, to kneel between his legs.  Clint’s ready for her, when she undoes his pants, raising his hips so she can pull them to his ankles, and scooting to the edge of the couch.  She fits him in her hand loosely, dry palm catching lightly on his cock the way he likes.  Clint likes it soft, almost gentle, _teasing_.  Darcy licks the underside of the head once, before wrapping her mouth around him and taking in everything her hand doesn’t cover.

 

Clint’s whole body tenses, thighs twitching beneath her forearms. “ _Babe_ ,” he chokes, hands curling into the cushion of the couch.  Darcy sucks, too hard for his taste, and he swears sharply, fucking up into her face, head falling back on the couch. “Fucking Christ, _Darcy_.”

 

She eases up, opening her hand so she can lick down his cock to his ball.  He likes it when she licks the seam between them, dragging her tongue back up hard, to mouth at the underside.  Precome beads and drips from the tip and Darcy doesn’t so much as lick it up, but drag it across her mouth and down her chin while he watches. Messy.  “Darcy, Darcy---I _want---_ ”

 

She pulls back, grinning when Clint makes a pained sound of protest. She grabs her tits again, just like before, pillowing his dick in her cleavage. “Wait, no, I’ll come,” he hisses, fucking up into the space between them. “Darce, I’ll come, I’ll---” She can already see it, he’s so _easy_ , and she pulls away just as his toes curl in the carpets, wrapping her hand tight around the base so he can’t. “ _Fucking shit_ \---”

 

She uses his knees to push herself up from the floor, sliding into his lap and taking him into herself.  Clint fits so perfectly, and Darcy can’t help the sigh that escapes her. His hands find her hips again, and he pulls her down. “I’m not gonna last,” he grumbles, coiled too tight already.  Darcy can feel the heat in her own belly and thinks he can probably get her there quick enough.  She leans back, bracing one hand on his knee for support, and buries the other between her own legs.  “That’s not helping,” he hisses, as she rides him and works her own clit. His gaze is locked where they’re joined, watching himself disappear inside her. They all like to watch. Darcy arches her back, and cries out when the head of his cock drags across her so sweetly, she feels herself clamp down on him.  Clint lets her do it, lets her fuck herself on him.  He looks so close it hurts, and Darcy wants it, viscerally, but knows Clint won’t come until she does.

 

She does. _Hard_ . It shakes her body, leaves her shivery and dizzy and the Darcy doesn’t realize the world’s actually moving until her ass hits the carpet and Clint’s pushing back inside her.  He fucks up into her hard, driving her across the carpet, before she gets a hand above her head, fingers digging into the plush to hold herself still.   The other hand, she uses to pull at his hair. He groans, hips stuttering, as he hikes her thighs upon his hips and braces himself on his knees. He fucks her like he wants to punish her, like he wants to _hurt_ her, and Darcy feels the sharp little shuddery aftershocks of her orgasm bloom into something more, something intense.

 

She pushes up, against the snap of his hips, force against force, fucks him _back_ , even as he bites along her collarbone. “ _Goddamn_ ,” he hisses, when she curls her back, half in his lap now, as he gets his hands under her ass and pulls her hard against him. “You’re just---” He pushes her back down, and Darcy laughs, when he buries his hand in her hair and pulls, holding her in place. “Too good,” he tells her. “You’re too good - I can’t---”

 

Darcy tips her head back just enough to see Tony leaning against the bar dividing the den from the other living space.   The heat in his eyes makes her dizzy, and he’s hard against the front of his jeans.  Darcy shakes Clint’s hand loose from her hair and gets her hands up under her, pushing herself up so she can sit in his lap, and fuck herself down on him again like she had on the couch.  Clint swears, can’t bring himself to look away from where he’s driving into her.  “Darcy, Darcy,” he cries, eyelids fluttering closed. “Fuck----”

 

When he comes, he crushes her against him, holding her down against the floor with the whole of his body as he spills and swears, hips jerking above her.  He kisses her once, before rolling to the side, one arm thrown over his face so he can pant into the bend of his elbow.

 

Darcy rolls to her belly, and forces herself upon shaking arms and knees to kiss him again, hair spilling around him.  Clint does, another surprised sound escaping him as he cups her jaw. He's not used to kissing, Darcy thinks, but he seems to like it.  He laughs, pulling away to kiss her cheek. “I can’t get it up again.”

 

“Mm,” Darcy sits back on her calves. “That’s okay. Tony doesn't look like he'd wait on you to finish again ”

 

Clint curses, turning just enough to catch sight of Tony who's still leaning against the bar, wordless but smirking. “Jesus Christ. This is the most incestuous family I’ve ever been a part of.” He tucks himself away with a grimace before pushing himself up to stand.

 

Tony eyes him. “I doubt that. Weren’t you a carnie?”

 

Clint opens his mouth to argue, but concedes with a nod, instead. “Fair point. Still. This is weird. It’s different when it’s cam feed.”

 

“You’re in _my_ penthouse, fucking _my_ girlfriend on _my_ living room floor, and you’re going to tell me I’m weird for watching.” Tony continues to stare.

 

Again, Clint concedes. “Fair point.” He looks down at Darcy, where she’s still sitting, shamelessly watching the pair of them. “Did you plan this?”

 

“I didn’t plan for you to throw me on the floor and fuck me across the carpet,” Darcy says, mildly. “But maybe Tony and I had plans to meet here for lunch. You’re awfully judgy for someone who spends a lot of time in the ceiling vents, spying.”

 

Clint laughs, and leans down to kiss her forehead. “Fair point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smuuuuut. 
> 
> I went through and cleaned up the grammar and such in the past chapters, so hopefully it reads like English is my first language now. Because it is.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kisses her. Which is not an answer and also kind of hurts. Darcy kisses back anyway because hello , she’s been waiting for this moment. “You know how to shoot a gun?” Barnes asks her, sliding a .22 out of a locker and into her hand.
> 
>  
> 
> She opens the clip and checks the rounds, before knocking back the safety and aim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a very small companion piece to this chapter specifically with a tiny bit of backstory. I didn't put it into this, because I don't want to much plot clogging up all the porn. 
> 
> Also, 
> 
> DARCY/BUCKY.

“You’re---Are you crazy?” Barnes tears her shirt where it’s caught in the ---Darcy’s not sure what it is. Golf-ball sized mechanical spider lodged in her rib cage?  The fabric rips easily, parting where the spider is--yep. Burrowing deeper. Possibly into her bones. Thin rivers of blood spill down her bare flesh.  Darcy’s not sure how fast it was going when she jumped in front of it---but hard enough to smash a few ribs. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “Why would you fucking do that? Why---”

 

“It would have killed you,” she slurs, feeling a little light-headed from the pain, or possibly blood loss. The spider digs deeper inside her and Darcy thinks maybe she should pull it out. But--well. It’s in there pretty deep. Something about puncture wounds flitters up in the back of her mind --you don’t pull it out. Whatever it is. Because bleeding and stuff? She’s not sure; everything fucking hurts. Barnes reaches for it, and Darcy slaps weakly at his hand. “Don’t---It’ll explode. EMP blast when they come in contact with metal.”  He snatches his hand away. “Tony said you had guns in here?”

 

He kisses her. Which is not an answer and also kind of hurts. Darcy kisses back anyway because _hello_ , she’s been waiting for this moment. “You know how to shoot a gun?” Barnes asks her, sliding a .22 out of a locker and into her hand.

 

She opens the clip and checks the rounds, before knocking back the safety and aiming it toward the ground. “Um. Point and shoot.”

 

“ _Aim_ and shoot,” Barnes snorts. He peers out the windows of the locker room doors, into the gym. “We need to take out the last two Robo Phils.  Then the spiders should die, right?”

 

“That’s what Tony said.” She shrugs, and it _hurts_. “I dropped the defibrillator when the spider thing hit me, so frying them is out.  Plan?”

 

“Shoot them a whole lot.” He hands her another gun. “Ready?”

 

***

 

Thirty-seven stitches, one punctured lung, mild internal bleeding, 14 hours of surgery and 22% of her ribs removed and replaced. Huzzah. It’s not great, but the alternative was Barnes getting his brains melted out his ears. His shiny metal arm of silver hurt smackdown was wired directly into his nervous system and central cortex; Darcy kind of assumed an EMP blast would turn his brain into rice krispies; _snap crackle pop_.  What’s a little organ damage, in comparison, really?

 

They’ve got her on the good drugs, which Darcy dazedly referred to as the morphine-landline when she came out of anesthesia.  There’s also some kind of pain-patch thing, wrapped over her ribs. She can feel it pulsing, which is unsettling, but it’s the _only_ thing she can feel and so Darcy will not complain.

 

She blinks open her eyes and stares at the familiar smooth tiles of the penthouse bedroom ceiling. “So. You kissed me.”

 

“You’re a very good shot,” Barnes says, which doesn’t make sense because he kissed her _before_ she shot anything. The spiders had made for small and fast targets, but those were Clint’s favorite, and Darcy was well practiced.

 

“You kissed me,” Darcy insists. “Don’t lie. I made Tony pull the feeds so I could be sure it wasn’t just the blood loss.”

 

Barnes sighs, long and tired like Darcy is the worst thing in the whole world. “I shouldn’t have called you---what I called you.”

 

“Are you gonna say something random and unrelated every time I remind you that you kissed me? Because you kissed me.” She looks at him, expectantly. “Well.”

 

He scowls, hair falling into his face where it’s come loose from the hair tie. Darcy kind of likes the hipster bun, she’s not gonna lie. “It’s not unrelated. It's---I kissed you because you...Aren't what I thought. You're...a part of this team. And your place isn't on your back. I shouldn't have said that. You...the way you handled yourself...But you shouldn't' have gotten hurt, you shouldn't have----”

 

"I fried a few Robo-Phil's with an automated external defibrillator, I'm not exactly fit for combat, Sarge." 

 

Barnes huffs, and it ruffles his hair. "You'da fit right in with the Howlers, ballsy little shit that you are. You and Stevie would have turned my hair gray before those Nazi's had a chance to put me on ice.  I---Look. I've been a bit of a shit, and you didn't deserve it. What you do--with them. I think I get it. I shouldn't have kissed you---" 

 

"I didn't mind." Darcy grinned. 

 

"No it was stupid. You don't even like me.  And---You were hurt, and I just--- But you were hurt and you were asking where I kept my guns, bleeding out and white as a sheet, but you were already gearing up to keep going and I realized...I was wrong about you.  And I just---You looked _so_ \---" He shakes his head. "I still shouldn't have. You were hurt." 

 

“You wanna see?” She lays a hand over her ribs, where Tony’s magical patch of painless voodoo still lays. She’d peeled it up, the day before and---it was ugly. But kind of badass.

 

Barnes nods, moving closer as Darcy pulls up the bottom of her tank top. The wound had been high, hitting just below the curve of her breast so he gets a little bit of an eye full as she holds her tit up and peels the patch off.

 

“They replaced twenty-two percent of your ribcage,” he tells her, and Darcy knew that, but it’s kind of cute that he does too.  “The surgery took fourteen hours.”

 

“That seems extreme.” She’d cracked a few ribs as a child, and while it hurt, it never needed much more than a few bandages.

 

“Removing the bone fragments and repairing the punctured lung took most the time.” He sits in Tony’s chair, hand reaching out tentatively.  Darcy grabs it, and pulls it closer. If he needs to touch her to be sure she’s alright, she’s cool with that. “Thirty-seven stitches.”  

 

“Tony says they won’t even scar.” They’d been sewn with some sort of high tensile bio-thread made from synthetic skin cells. “Dude - if I hadn’t stepped in front of it, we’d have both never made it out of there.”

 

“You handled yourself well enough.” His touch is light, as he traces the blue-black circular bruise. “You’d have been fine.”

 

“And you’d have been laying on the floor with your brain oozing out your asshole. I know we’re not best friends, but I don’t want you dead.”  She drops her hand from her tank top and he startles when his fingers brushed her breast, drawing his hand away fast enough to make her a little dizzy. That could also be the drugs. She lays the patch back in place, and sorts her top. “I’m fine. It’s not like I took a bullet for you.”

 

“No just an explosive robotic bug with tiny knives for legs.” He raises a brow when she opens her mouth to argue, and Darcy chooses to keep silent. “I shouldn’t have---said what I said. In the kitchen.”

 

“No dude, I’m pretty slutty.”  She’s got zero issue owning who she is and what she does. And who she does.

 

“You---” He shakes his head. “You’re...You...Help them.” He says it through his teeth. “I---When you were with Thor---”

 

“We don’t need to talk about it.” He sort of looks like he’d rather have his brains melt out his ear, than talk about it.

 

“No, I...Do. I do. You help Stevie. He---I’ve never seen him like this. It’s. Good. And you’re right. You---They come to you. Barton, and Stevie. Thor. Tony---he. _Loves_ you.” Barnes breathes deeply. “I think they all do, a little. In a different way.  You give ‘em something they can’t have. They can’t ever...Have anything normal. Not when we live like this. They can’t have a gal like people do.  But you...You’re there for them. Not just. Like. _Not_.” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “It isn’t just sex. Not really.”

 

Darcy wants to argue - it’s a lot of sex. But she’d be doing her boys a disservice and she can’t bring herself to lie. “No, it’s not. I love them too, in their own ways.”

 

“You take care of them,” Barnes says, very quietly. “You give them something they need - something they can’t get just from anyone. It’s not just sex it’s...comfort. Knowing they can...have you. And be themselves. No lies. They can...wake up with you and laugh with you and...everything else too. But. I was wrong, the things I said. I shouldn’t have said them. I didn’t know.”

 

“I’m a girl that goes to bed with a lotta guys,” Darcy says, soft but frank. “It’s more, yeah, but it is what it is.”

 

“You take care of them,” he says again, a quiet little argument. He sits up straighter again, having hunched back down into the chair when words failed him. “You---Do you need anything?”

 

She sort of wants chipotle, and maybe a banana chocolate chip smoothie, but someone will bring her lunch later and she thinks that’s maybe not what he means anyway. “I’m...Good.”

 

Barnes scowls, not exactly at her. Possibly at himself. “No I mean---Do you need anything? Like...Like they need things.” He’s not exactly looking at her, hiding instead by the curtain of loose hair. “From you.”

 

She blames the drugs but it takes her a second to figure out what he’s asking. “Oh. _Oh_ . Wow. Are you. Uh. Offering. Do _you_ need anything? From me?”

 

He looks up sharply, eyes narrowed. “No.”

 

Darcy reels back a little, offended. “Well excuse the fuck out of me, but I don’t fuck anyone short of enthusiastic, so you can take your weird reluctant---what is this, some sort of thank you? And go fuck yourself. I didn’t save you so you’d--whatever.”

 

Barnes grits his teeth, a feral little gesture. “That’s not---I meant...I don’t think I could...” He shakes his head, breathes heavily out his nose. “I don’t think I could...I don’t want it to be about me. I don’t think I could. If it was...About me.” He laughs suddenly, very, very quietly. “I _do_ want too. Do that. With you. I just. It needs to be...for you.”

 

“ _That_ ,” Darcy echoes, softly, teasingly. “If you can’t say it---”

 

“Darcy.” He closes his eyes, and scrubs a hand down his face. “This is hard for me, doll. Go easy.”  

 

“Okay.” Darcy knows it’s hard on him, but she’s also known for a while that he _does_ want her.  She spends a lot of time around people who want (and do) fuck her, that she knows the look. She’s just been waiting. She thought---well. She’d had her money on hate fucking, but she thinks she was wrong. Very, very wrong.  Barnes is a _softie_. A romantic. “What did you want---I mean,” she corrects quickly. “What...did you have in mind?”

 

“I---” he looks a little stricken, a man with ideas he can’t verbalize. Like he’s afraid to tell her what he has in mind, lest he accidentally make it about him.

 

“What did you do to those girls you use to bring home,” Darcy asks quickly.  He might want to make it about her, what she wants and needs, but Darcy knows---this is about him too. She could be selfish and forget his dick is attached to a person, but that’s not her way. “We could do that.”

 

He side-eyes her, mouth pinched. “I ah....think that might be a little boring for you, doll. I’ve seen what you get up too.”

 

“You have,” Darcy agrees, smirking. “With a few of my boys, anyway. But not one of them fucks me the same way and I can’t say I’ve enjoyed any of them less for it.” He flushes a little when she says fuck and it’s cute. It’s just. He’s adorable. How’d she missed it? “So how about you tell me what you did with those girls you brought home. Show me?”

 

“But I didn’t fuck them.” He winces, with his whole body, and Darcy just wants to wrap him up in a hug forever. “I’m not a --- I’ve been with women. During the war -- just. Back home, I didn’t. Even if they wanted too, it wouldn’t have been right.”

 

“You don’t have to fuck me.” Darcy sense that he has some hang-ups when it comes to down and dirty sex that his mind has separated from foreplay.

 

“Do you _want_ me to fuck you?”  

 

God, she does. She really does. Barnes has a focus that rivals any of her boys, an intensity she’s seen him pour into everything he does. Fighting. Cleaning his guns. Target practice. Fixing shit (he’s surprisingly handy). Loading the dishwasher. Making a sandwich.  His eyes narrow, and his shoulder square. Barnes gives everything a hundred percent, breaks everything down into a mission.  Darcy would really, really like him to make a mission of fucking her until she cries.

 

But, that’s not---she gets the feeling that he’s not ready for that. And Darcy can be patient. She thinks it might be worth it.

 

“What I _need_ ,” she says, emphasizing the word even as she throws back the covers. She’s just got panties on, and she watches him suck in a breath and move back in his chair - putting space between them.  She drops her legs over the edge of the bed and keeps her thighs together. “Is you to come over here and spell your name, Barnes.”

 

“James,” he corrects, swallowing as his eyes drift down her body. “My name’s James. Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes,” he adds all together, a little hastily. “Sergeant.”

 

“Real long name you got there.” Darcy lets her thighs fall open, as she leans back on the bed slightly, hands splayed on the mattress. She swings her feet a little; her toes don’t quite touch the floor.  She can’t feel a thing; Tony’s magical pain pusley thing is legitimately the eighth world wonder.  “Well?”

 

He wipes his hand down his mouth again, still staring decidedly not at her face. “That’s---not what underthings looked like in the 40’s.” Darcy watches him lick his lips and---Christ. But he’s _pretty_. “It’s...been a while. Since I remember doing this.”

 

 _Since I remember._ Darcy spreads her legs wider - jumping straight from demure to lewd and Barnes pushes himself out of the chair, to fall between her thighs on his knees.  He touches her skin, and the contrast between the flesh and the metal make her breath catch.  She puts her hand on his metal one before he can draw it away. “All or nothin’, Sarge.”

 

He leans up to kiss her and it’s sweet. Tentative, like she ain’t a sure thing. Respectful, even.  It’s new, but she likes it, and so she puts her hands in his hair and pulls him a little closer.  His chest brushes her own and she can feel the slight, shifty little recoil of his body. “You can,” she tells him, suspecting he won’t let himself do anything she doesn’t explicitly give him permission to do.  “Or I could----”

 

She wriggles to the edge of the bed and gets her legs around him, cunt flush against his stomach.  His whole body shivers, palms flexing where they've still curled over her thighs and Barnes---James---buries his face into her neck as she pulls him back, on top of her.  “Oh---Yeah. I---I like that,” she says, sounding a little breathless when he kisses the curve of her shoulder. “Did you do this?”

 

“Yes,” he murmurs into her skin. “They---Usually kept their dresses on.” He props himself up on his forearm, let’s his other hand wander just a little bit, over her shoulder, and down her arm, then the curve of her waist, to follow up her thigh where it rests on his hip. “I’d push up the skirts---if they let me.”

 

“I’d let you.” Her dress would be on the floor before the door was shut, probably.

 

He laughs against her skin and scrapes his teeth over her jaw as he brushes his thumb over her hip bone. He’s keeping his weight off her, and Darcy wants nothing more than to know how hard he is.  “Yeah? You _would_ be the kinda dame to get a guy in trouble. They weren’t all saints, you know?”

 

“I don’t doubt it.” She kisses him, deeper this time, like a dame looking for trouble. Licks right into his mouth, with her thighs, looked over his hips. “What---What next?”

 

He---Darcy thought her boys were easy, but Bucky already looks half wrecked.  His thumbs are sweeping closer and closer to her inner thighs, and it’s---it’s not much but it’s _too_ much. Darcy’s spoiled; she's not used to being made to _wait_.  It’s torture.

 

“I’d--uh. I could---” He bites his lip---and there it is, that dark-eyed intensity she’s spent a lot of time thinking about. “I could show you.”

 

“ _Please_.” She unwraps her arms from him, let’s them fall to her side and he--- He’s so...tentative. He kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, skips her tits completely. He pushes up her top just enough to kiss her belly and steals an apologetic glance like he’s done something wrong. “You can,” she tells him again, breathless and quiet. She considers offering to take it off but then he---then he----

 

He’s on his knees between her thighs again.  This time her feet are braced against the mattress and Bucky uses the position to throw both her legs over his shoulders. It’s a bold move- more than she expected and so she’s not ready for it when he licks her.

 

He’s not so hesitant, once his mouth is on her, and if he’s spelling his name, well. Darcy can’t tell. It feels good. Better than it should, she’s got her panties on for fucks sake, but there’s something shamelessly good about his firm tongue pressed against damn satin.  

 

“Oh Christ, you’re _wet_ ,” he hisses, right against her cunt, when his thumb strays down to press against her entrance. He doesn’t push, he _pets_ her and Darcy---can barely stand it. She needs something in her. She _is_ wet. Getting wetter by the second. A helpless, broken little moan falls from her mouth when he drags his teeth over her clit---

 

“Gotta be quiet, Doll. Stevie---” he stops himself, laughing against her cunt. “Sorry---”

 

“Stevies not here,” Darcy laughs with him, feeling fucking unhinged at how close she is already, just from this. It’s---intense. Focused. Darcy needs him to push her panties aside and fuck his fingers into her and knows without a doubt, he won’t.  “And if he was, he’d probably wanna watch.”

 

“Yeah, he was always into that. No more talking about Steve.”

 

He fits his mouth over her clit and drags his tongue up and down faster, and Darcy feels her thighs twitch and flex against his ears. “Fucking--Oh _God_ . That’s---That’s---Right _there---_ ” She pushes against him, against that fucking thumb pressed against her, gasps when he slides it along the edge of her panties like he might---but he doesn’t and she wants to cry.  She digs her fingers into his hair and pulls. The muffled, drawn groan that spills from his mouth and against her cunt is what does it---she comes. Hard, and torturously slow, even as he licks her through it. Her pussy clenches helplessly around absolutely nothing, shamelessly unfilled and it’s like---she _keeps_ coming.  She keeps coming like her body’s looking for something. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries, thighs shaking.  She thinks---she thinks she could---

 

She pushes him away---just a little---and gets a hand into her own panties. She pushes two fingers in, so easily, and _comes again_ just like that, even as she fucks them in and out in shallow little thrusts beneath pale yellow satin.

 

“Doll,” Bucky groans, watching her hand with wide-shocked eyes.  “Babydoll--- _fuck._ ”

 

“You could fuck me,” she says, a little deliriously. Her hand’s still in her panties, fingers still in her cunt. She wasn’t going to ask, she wasn’t---but _God_.  She---should not have come so hard, from something so goddamn innocent. She’d really like to see what happens when he fucks her.

 

“Darcy.” He cries her name, hands curled into fists on either side of her thighs where he’s let them fall back to the mattress. He presses his forehead to her hip. “I----I can’t--I---”

 

“Shhhhh,” Darcy coos, pushing his head up with a hand beneath his chin, the one that’s not still in her fucking underwear. “Shhh, it’s okay. No, I wasn’t---I don’t need it. I’m---this was---” She can’t even fucking talk with how good it was. “Don’t you wanna come?”

 

“No that’s not---This is usually where they’d stop me. Usually. But even if they didn’t---I couldn’t----” He bites her hand and shutters. “I----I----”

 

“I won’t touch you,” she promises, which is...not how this usually plays out. “You can---You could touch yourself. Did you---Ever do that? Before.”

 

“ _Yes_ .” He gets a hand in his pants, and Darcy can’t even---he looks like it fucking _hurts_. “Sometimes.”

 

“Not like that. Take it out,” she murmurs, feeling her pussy clench around her own fingers just thinking about it. “I won’t---you don’t need too---”

 

He does, and Darcy sucks in a sharp breath. His cock is every bit as pretty as he is and so fucking hard.  Thick in his palm, the head an angry, rosy red, spilling precome into his fist. He hunches over like he doesn’t want her to look and so Darcy looks at his face instead. “You’re real good at that, Sergeant Barnes.” She sounds winded like she ran a marathon and didn’t just lay on her back and come her brains out from heavy petting.

 

She can see the way his arm moves and flexes in shallow, jerky little motions from the corner of her eye. “You’ve---probably had better. This week even,” he says, with a laugh that doesn’t sound mean anymore, just--- self-conscious.  

 

Darcy slips her hand out of her panties, sticky wet, and grabs his face. It's obsene, how slick she is, but it's telling too.  “Bucky. Believe me. You’re really good at that.”

 

His mouth falls open, even as his eyes snap shut.  He shudders, “Oh God, you really---you really uh---”

 

“Came? Yes. Twice. Couldn’t you tell?” Maybe he couldn’t, Darcy realizes and changes the subject quick as she can. “You turn.”  She hooks her thighs back over his hips and pulls him closer. "Come on Soldier, show me what you got." 

 

“Wait, no---”

 

“Shhh, I’m not---We won’t---I still have my panties on.” Enthusiastic consent, she reminds herself. “But you can---if you want---Nothing you don’t want. I’ll stop. You can stop---Oh Jesus fucking _Bucky_ . Fuck!”

 

He shifts his hips and his cock drags across her panties, and it's---so innocent, but so delicious.  He does it once, twice, three times like he can't stop fucking up against her, like he can't get himself in check. "Damn, doll. Fuck. I---I shouldn't----" And then---He’s got his dick pressed against her entrance, soaking wet panties the only thing between the two but he’s uh---absolutely just a little tiny bit _inside of her._ And Darcy has already come twice but her cunt clenches anyway and---

 

“Aw hell,” he huffs, hand working his cock harder. He doesn’t push in anymore, can’t really, but Darcy’s body is just begging to pull him closer.  His hips jerk in aborted little thrust like he wants nothing more than to---“Doll---I’m gonna, I’m gonna---”

 

“You can, you can, you can,” Darcy chants, delirious and turned on and come-stupid all at once. She wants to fucking _scream_ .  This is so much better than hate-fucking and they’re _not even fucking._

 

He doesn’t come on her but pulls away, and cups his hand over the head of his cock, spilling into his palm with a choked little cry, face buried into the soft swell of her stomach, careful of the pain patch and her ribs.  Darcy can feel him panting in tandem to her own wild breath. “That is---” Darcy begins, choked by her own lungs (one of which just had a lil hole in it, she reminds herself.) “That is hands down some of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”

 

“We didn’t even---”

 

“ _Hottest sex I’ve ever had,_ ” she cuts him off, a little shrilly. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.” Her whole body still feels curled up in pleasure. “Christ, Bucky. Just. Damn.”

 

“Right...uh. Right back atcha, doll.”

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out the companion piece to this chapter, second part of this series, for more backstory on the robotic spiders and robo phils.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We need to talk about Bucky's issues." 
> 
> Steve's still dragging his mouth up over the curve of his neck, and so she knows his attention is divided. “Yeah,” he draws at length, drawing a fingertip down the inner seam of the denim. “You’re gonna need to be more specific, honey. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Darcy

“We gotta talk about Bucky’s issues.”

 

Steve’s hand stops where it’s working its way up her thigh.  He’s fit himself between her open legs on the couch. She’s wearing jeans. As much as Steve loves her skirts, he’s always more fascinated by jeans. Darcy supposes it’s something like a novelty to him, a lady in pants.

 

He’s still dragging his mouth up over the curve of his neck, and so she knows his attention is divided. “Yeah,” he draws at length, drawing a fingertip down the inner seam of the denim. “You’re gonna need to be more specific, honey. ”

 

That’s fair.  Bucky’s issues is probably a pretty loaded topic. “The sex ones.”

 

Steve _sighs_. He sighs and sits up on the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face as she rearranges her legs into his lap. “Yeah, okay.”

 

He’s hard beneath his own jeans, but she likes to make him wait it out a little.  Get him a keyed up. A little jittery with it, a little wild.  “Hey, don’t make that face. We both know you’ve been betting on when me and him are gonna bang it out. Facilitate that happening, yeah?”

 

He pulls a face, half grimace but half accepting. “Okay, so Bucky’s issues. Which specifically? What did you two get up to? Because he’s not the kiss and tell type.”  

 

Darcy gathered that much.  It’s sweet, really, and speaks to Bucky being a good person.  Something he seems to forget. “I had him show me  what he used to do those girls he brought back to your apartment.”

 

Steve, inexplicably, fucking _blushes_.  She’s sort of come to understand that there’s a constant juxtaposition between Before Steve Sensibilities and the guy who likes to spank her when he comes just so she’ll clench down a little harder on his dick. “Okay.”

 

“Oookay?” Darcy sighs and throws herself back on the couch, so she can dig her toes into his thighs. “Listen, he told me he’d been with women. Outside of foreplay. That’s the truth?  He’s not a virgin, right?”

 

“No.” Steve pauses for a moment and lays a hand on the top of her bare foot absently. “He was with a decent few ladies during the war.  In the more established and less hostile cities,” he adds. “But uh...Well.   _Jeez_ , Darce. I don’t think he’d like me telling you this.”

 

“Everything in full confidence,” Darcy promises, laying a hand over her heart. “Scouts honor. Anything you tell me will be used specifically to fuck him.” And help him. Because Bucky wasn’t wrong; that’s what Darcy wants to do.

 

“Well.  Back then, during the War, it was pretty common for a soldier to uh..."He pulls a face, and chews on his lip. "Well see, we never bunked down for a few more days. Didn’t give a guy a lotta time to get to know a woman.”

 

“Okay, and Buck’s not a hit em’ and quiet em’ kinda guy,” Darcy agrees, leading Steve further. “And?”

 

“He wasn't. Isn’t.” He scratches at the scruff decorating the sharp cut of his jaw, awkward as anything she’s ever seen. “So, while some of the local gals didn’t mind bedding the soldiers...Bucky wasn’t the type to partake. Didn’t think it was right. Not when we’d be getting on and they had lives to get back to, too.”

 

“Hmm. Yeah. Not real fond of the Victory Girls. I did get the gist of that,” Darcy nodded. “He mentioned some of the girls back home were willing too, but he called them trouble. Called _me_ trouble.”

 

“He _would_ say that,” Steve laughed. “You gotta see, Darcy, Bucky had four older sisters. His mama was always on them about saving it for marriage and even though she didn’t really put it on Bucky, he picked it up anyway. He couldn’t bring himself to get a gal in a bad way. Also, I think his mama would have castrated him. She was...something.”

 

“You said he wasn’t a virgin,” Darcy reminded him. “Unless he got married?” God, but that would be fucking depressing.  Darcy wasn’t sure how to help him with that.

 

“No.” Steve grimaced again and tilted his head back on the couch to stare at the ceiling. “Never tell him I told you this. Darcy- swear it.”

 

She holds up her pinky, and he hooks his own into it, having learned her favorite form of legally binding contracts. “Never, ever.”

 

“Now, I’m not 100% sure, because this is just not something us guys get on about, but I think maybe Buck’s never been with a woman he hasn’t...You know.  It was different...when it was their job.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “Christ." Darcy knows it's serious if he's resorted to blasphemy. She waits. "I don’t think he’s ever been with a woman he wasn’t paying.”

 

“Oh. Ooooh,” Darcy blinks, wildly. “Wait---I don’t get why that’s an issue.” Darcy had zero issue with sex workers. More power to them, she knew it was hard work. 

 

Steve squints at the wall across the room, and he looks so much like Bucky when he Doesn’t Want To Talk About It. “Fine. Fine! Okay - listen. Darcy - this is awful. There’s just some things a man shouldn’t talk about. This is one of them.” He lays a hand over his own eyes, like if he can’t see her, she isn’t really there. Darcy obligingly says nothing. “Buck never got very far with the girls back home - I gathered he was about as gentlemanly as you can be, with a girls skirt around her waist. Whatever he did with you - that’s _all_ he did. And the uh...ladies he paid...well. He was buying a service. Those aren’t the kind of girls you really...take your time with.”

She’s still missing whatever he’s putting down. “Okay?”

 

“So he’s had sex,” Steve tells her, slowly. “Probably in the dark, quick like because she had other customers---Darcy he’s _just_ had sex. He’s been...in a woman.  But that’s it. He’s never even...Looked. Let alone touched. A woman. There. ” His cheeks pink, as he flusters on. “You know. Without the panties. I mean, I’m not knocking a working-gal, but they’re not the type you put your mouth on.”

 

“Oooooh,” Darcy says, at length. “Oh. Damn. Okay. That explains a lot. So he just---doesn’t have a lot of experience. Wait, but he’s seen me. He’s seen like---all of me.  That stuff with Thor didn’t leave much for the imagination. Bucky’s absolutely seen my---”

 

“Can we stop talking about this?” Steve whines, a little. “I need to be done. I’m not gonna be able to look Buck in the eye for a week.  And if I remember - he was real careful _not_ to look. Honestly, I don’t think seeing you like that makes Bucky want you any less.  It’s probably all he can think about. It’s all I think about. Do you know what you look like?  Like a quick trip to hell worth burnin' for.”

 

Darcy feels her heart melt a little. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Steven.” She pauses, thoughtful. ““Do you think he’s had a blowjob? Sex workers probably did that. But like? Should I start there?”

 

“Oh jeez.” Darcy shifts her foot in Steve’s lap - he’s still a little hard, so he can hush. “Why don’t you just ask him? Instead of me. Because I need to be done talking about this.”

 

“He can’t even say the word sex, I’m not gonna ask if he’s had a mouth on his cock. He probably wouldn't let a girl. He'd probably think it was demeaning.” Bucky is definitely not the kind to respond to blunt frankness, which is a pity because it works so well with all her other boys. “Stop being a baby, and help me fuck your friend. You’re the man with the plan! Help me make a plan to get on your best friends dick, and then bend me over the coffee table. Quick like, because I'm meeting Tony for dinner later.”

 

Steve stares at her for a long minute. “This century is _wild_ .” He adjusts his dick in his jeans and nods. The nod is very Captain America, Darcy decides. “Listen - Buck was real good with the ladies and all, but---well. Gal’s talk. It kinda got around that he was... _Nice_ . Didn’t ask for nothing back. Never pushed. Some of the guys gave him a hard time about it, but Bucky never paid them no mind, and he always had more girls than the lot of them combine. Bucky was...Real popular. Didn’t hurt that he was good looking, you know? So Bucky didn’t even have to _try_.  He got by being a real stand up guy. But he liked datin’ I think. He liked to show a girl a good time, and not even just when he brought em’ back. But he never got a chance to do more than a date or two with any given girl before he was drafted and I think...Well, I think he’d have liked to....You know. Something steady.”  

 

“So...I should...date him.” Darcy doesn’t think that would be hard, but she’s also not sure how it fits into everything.  Can she date her boys? Or is it just sex? Should she ask Tony? She and Tony aren’t even dating anymore; they’re just together. She should probably ask him before she considers dating someone else. "I gotta run that by Tony." 

 

“I think you should uh...” He frowns, running his tongue along his teeth. “Let him run the bases. Ease him into it.”

 

“Into...me.” She runs her foot over the length of his dick, until he pins it in place, squirming. “You know he pretty much accused me of being a prostitute.”

 

“He _what---_ ”

 

 

“He called me a mud bug. A pick me up?” He called her a lot of things, most of which only made her laugh. “And a victory girl.”

 

Steve looks---actually kind of pissed. “A mud bu--- Darcy that’s actually a little _worse_ than a working gal. Means you’re---I oughta---”

 

“He’s apologized.” She doesn’t mention that he apologized literally three days ago, right before fitting himself between her legs. “I kind of liked Victory Girl. Mean’s we’re all winners, right?”

 

“That’s not really what it means, but I’m gonna let you have it because I can see you’ve dug your heels in.” He snorts. “Are we done talking about Bucky’s issues? I helped you plan---”

 

“You call that a plan? Run the bases?”

 

“Let him walk you home, when he tries to kiss you goodnight, maybe curve him a little.” He pushes himself to his knees, and pushes himself between her thighs on the couch cushions. “And when he apologizes for being a little forward, invite him in. He’s gonna say no, gonna try do what’s right...” He flicks the button open on her jeans, and eases the zipper down slowly. “You’re very convincing. You might even promise to be good.”

 

“I’m a convincing liar?” She lifts her hips when he pulls her jeans down her thighs.

 

“No - you’re gonna be good.” He fits his hand over her panties ---and Darcy wants to protest because one Good Boy is enough, thanks. “Let him get to first base - that’s kissing, right?”

 

“And touching above the waist, over the clothes.” She remembers how he’d been real careful not to touch her tits. Thinks that maybe she might have to help. “Okay. And then?”

 

Steve, bless him, shoves her panties aside and pushes inside her with two rough fingers. “You be good. Kissin’. Touching. Maybe on the couch. Keep your clothes on. If he tries---if he tries to put his hand up your dress, push it away.”

 

“But I want him to touch me,” Darcy protests, even as Steve’s thumb circles her clit. “Oh fuck---I really want him to touch me.”

 

“It’s the long-con with Buck, or nothing, baby. It’s like you said, he’s seen you. He likes what he’s seen. Take it away, make him miss it. Hard to get, Darce. Gotta play. ” He curls his fingers, and she moans. “Hell, Darce. You get so fucking wet.” He pants into her neck, body curled over hers, and Darcy wishes she could spread her legs farther, get more of him in her.  “He’s gonna keep his hands at nine and six.” His other hand flexes on six, curved around her hip.  

 

“Just kissing?”

 

“No --- push up on him. Make it seem like an accident. But don’t stop.” He moves faster, harder, shifting back to wriggle her jeans farther down her knees. “He---he really wants you, doll. And it’s been a while. He might come in his pants if you push him too far. It happened once or twice, when he brought gals home. Think you can do that?”

 

“Oh fuck.” It shouldn’t be hot, it really shouldn’t, but the idea of Bucky so desperate, so hot for her that he fucking loses it in his jeans like a teenager---yeah. It’s working for her.

 

Steve gets her jeans off - leaves her panties on, the fucker, and pulls her up. “Well?”

 

“Shouldn’t we go in the bedroom or something?” They’re in Steve’s living room, which also happens to be Bucky’s living room, after all.

 

“You said the coffee table.” He helps her stand, and spins her, coming up to crowd against her back. “Plus I think Bucky likes it when he walks in on us.”

 

“I think _you_ like it when Bucky walks in on us,” Darcy counters, throwing her hands out just in time to catch herself as he bends her over.  She’s not really protesting.  Steve’s recently introduced hair pulling into the kinky shit he does to her (thanks, Thor) and Darcy’s _into_ it. “Aren’t I supposed to be playing hard to get.”

 

“Hard for _him_ to get. We both know you’re easy for me.” He pushes his fingers back into her cunt, making sure she’s ready because he might like to spank her but he’s a _boy scout_ at heart.  Darcy pushes back - she’s wet, she wants him, she’d rather not wait.

 

"Don't think it makes you special." She’s not expecting him to _lick_ her - just like Bucky did - through her wet panties. “Oh come on,” she cries, pushing back against his face. He’s not even licking her clit, he’s just being _mean_. “Steve, come on. Please, I need---”

 

He pushes her panties aside and buries his face in her cunt.  Darcy’s pretty sure his nose brushes across her asshole but if he’s got no complaints, neither does she.  He works a hand between her thighs and presses his fingers against her clit. It isn’t what she wants but---it’s _good_.

 

When he finally fucks her, his buries a hand in her hair. He's taken Thor's advice about hair pulling to heart, bless him. “He’s gonna be so gentle, Darcy,” Steve coos, easing out of her so slowly, she can feel every inch of his dick drag against her cunt. It’s so much--Darcy’s hands slip until she’s braced on her elbows, ass angled higher.. “When he finally has you, he’s gonna take you slow. Gonna make you shake all over with how bad you want it. And you’re gonna let him, huh? He’s gonna work you over and you’re gonna _love_ it.” He pulls her hair, but he doesn’t slam into her, and the slow, easy thrusts making heat coil into her belly. “Yeah --- look at you. You don’t care how you get it, so long as you get it. What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

 

“Harder.” She tries to push back, but she can’t with his hand on her hip, holding her in place. “Please Steve, please---”

 

It’s the begging---he slams into her, hard enough to send her sliding up the coffee table, but she can’t go far with his hand in her hair and it’s---He’s not wrong.

 

Darcy doesn’t care how she gets it, so long as she gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still cleaning up the previous chapters, and adding pairings into the begining chapter notes to let you know whose getting it on.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little bit of that daddy kink in this one.

Darcy sidles up to Tony where he’s standing at the counter fucking with wheatgrass. For a hedonist, Tony’s weird about what he puts in his body.  At least, significantly more selective about it than what he puts in Darcy's body considering he once put  _ Doctor Banner _ inside of her   Darcy supposes that makes sense. He’s fucking  _ fit _ , and not a juiced up super Soldier or Alien God.   She hikes herself up on the counter, remembering fondly how she’d sat on his desk in the lab, how he’d moved between her thighs. It was the start of this path of madness, and Darcy’s never regretted it. Tony - Tony was the first man to make her feel beautiful.  He liked her thighs - she remembers being surprised that anyone would like them, had accepted that they would at most be tolerated and resented. And now? Now Darcy is hard-pressed to put on pants.

 

“What’s got you smiling, princess?” 

 

“Thinking about that first time,” She pokes him in the hip with the tip of her toe, dragging her foot up until it catches on his shirt. “You and me, in the labs. I was so nervous.” 

 

Tony doesn’t drop what he’s doing. He’s too careful for that. But he does set his wheatgrass-whatever down. He turns to her, pushing between her legs, hands smoothing up her thighs until his fingertips dip beneath her shorts. Just like that, she has his attention. Tony Stark’s full attention. It’s a goddamn marvel. Nothing, nothing can hold Tony’s attention; Darcy gets it. He’s  _ brilliant _ , not distracted, always ten steps ahead of everyone else.  But he makes time for her. He’s  _ good  _ to her.  

 

He kisses her jaw, and Darcy can feel his smile when she tips her head to accommodate this. “Didn’t look nervous to me.” He drags his mouth down her throat, marking his territory with beard burn and bites. “You looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Seducing a man twice your age.” 

 

“A very attractive man twice my age,” Darcy amends, because Tony is vain and Darcy is accommodating. “Who spent a lot of time looking at my ass. I liked the attention.” 

 

Tony laughs, just a warm puff of breath against her skin. “I never would have guessed.”  He loops both arms around her waist, so they’re flush together. “Coming into my lab in those little fucking shorts, and the knee socks. The knee socks messed me up.. Made me feel like a dirty old man.” 

 

Darcy hikes both her legs up over his hips, the white of her knee socks bright against his dark jeans. “You  _ are _ a dirty old man.” 

 

“I am, and I can’t even bring myself to be sorry about it. Look how well it’s working out for me.” He pushes his hands up the back of her shirt, the calloused palms rough against her smooth skin. “I really...really tried to make myself behave. Do you know that?” She can feel him, hard against her, so easy and Darcy can’t explain the rush it gives her. This man could have anything in the world, but he wants her. “Do you know how hard I tried? Tried not to look  _ too  _ much. Tried not to say  _ too  _ much. Tried to keep my distance. I knew if I touched you...if I put my hands on you...I tried to be good, I really...really did.  But then you were there, looking too good for your own good on my lab table, touching  _ me _ . I’m not good at being bad at things, but how was I supposed to say no?” 

 

“You weren’t.” Darcy has a thought then, a curious thing. She tilts her head back to look at him.  All her boys are gorgeous but Tony’s the only one you could consider pretty. Dark lashes, darker eyes, that  _ mouth _ .  Tony is every bit a man, but he is  _ pretty _ . “Were you just waiting for me to make the first move?” 

 

His hands, gently exploring the mostly-healed mark on her rib cage, freeze. “Hoping,” he corrects, moving to kiss her mouth. “I was  _ hoping _ you’d make a move. Praying.  Silently pleading. Maybe running some calculations. And when you did...”

 

Darcy gets distracted in their kiss until Tony has his fingers tangled in her hair and they’re both breathless. “Did you---” She begins to ask when he presses his mouth to hers again, quickly and just once like he can’t help it. “Did you think it would be like this?” 

 

“Honestly?” He doesn’t let her go, even though they’re not kissing. He holds her close, like something precious. “No - I thought...I thought it was a one-time thing. And then I saw you with---” 

 

“Clint,” Darcy supplies. “And Steve.” 

 

“And I realized....” He kisses her cheek, the left and then the right. And then her forehead because he likes things to balance. “That I really needed to keep you.” 

 

“Do you let me fuck them so I won’t go?” She’s wondered before if his acceptance in her many many lovers was born of fear. “I’m not going anywhere, Tony.” 

 

He kisses her mouth. “No. God. No, you’re the best team exercise we’ve ever had.” 

 

Darcy laughs and lets her weight fall against his hold. He doesn’t drop her, just holds her tighter. “I feel like I should find that insulting.” 

 

“Not hardly. You bring us closer together. A little secret we all share. On the field...we all have one thing to get home too. Nat calls us suckers, but...we’ve all got one thing on our mind.” Tony rolls his hips against her own, and Darcy would be lying if she said she wasn’t interested.  She’s always interested in Tony. “I like watching you with them. I like hearing about you with them. Steve doesn’t...he’s not the kiss and tell type. But Clint and Thor...you are their  _ favorite  _ locker room talk and I  _ like  _ it. Because you were mine first, and I’m secretly three years old.” 

 

“It’s not a secret.” She moves her arms to loop over his shoulders, fingers dancing through the short-trimmed hairs at the nape of his neck. “You like swooping in when they’re done. Sweep me off my feet and have your way with me and it’s got a little to do with your weird kink for sloppy seconds and more to do with reminding them where I sleep at night.” 

 

“Guilty,” Tony admits, shamelessly. 

 

“We know what  _ I  _ get out of this arrangement,” Darcy hums, curling her body into his. “But what about you?” 

 

“What do any of us get? You in all your glorious forms.”  Tony dodges the question and Darcy finds that curious. “Thor gets a disciple, as he puts it... I think you might be a little slice of Asgard on Earth for him. Someone to treat him like royalty because we sure don’t.  Steve gets a lover; someone he can  _ make time  _ with on the regular. Let’s be real, he’s never going to be a one night stand kind of guy. Sure he’s turned out kinkier than anyone expected, but he needs someone he can trust, and that’s you. Bruce - gets a booty call; no questions, no judgment, you don’t care about his alter ego, you’re there to fuck, and he needs that. You and Clint - I think you might be his best friend. I’m waiting for him to realize it. I think it happened the day you pulled a nerf gun out of your cleavage and nailed him in the face. You’re the levity an assassin needs in his life. Agent Coulson just needs to unclench on occasion; you’re probably adding years to his life expectancy with every orgasm.” 

 

Darcy isn’t about to let it slide. “What do you get?” 

 

“You’re...Mine. You’re mine. My girlfriend. My sugar baby. I’m over-forty and unmarried, it was high time I got one.” Tony says it with a lofty, airy tone of someone used to getting exactly what they want. “I get...you know. The Girlfriend stuff.” 

 

Darcy thinks they might be hugging, she thinks that might be what this is. They’re curled around each other, Darcy’s head resting on his shoulder. “What’s Girlfriend stuff?” 

 

“Girlfriend stuff,” Tony repeats, his head resting on hers. “Reaching for my cup of coffee, finding it empty because you drank it.  Finding your tiny little panties stuck in the pant leg of my jeans because Laundry Service has started doing ours together. Your hair shedding all over my stuff; I don’t understand how you can shed that much and not be bald, Darcy. I don’t honestly understand it. But....girlfriend stuff is your socks stuck under the sheets on my half of the bed from where you toed em off in the middle of the night so you could stick your cold ass feet on my legs. It’s you without makeup in your ugly pajamas telling me to let you fucking sleep when I try to wake you up on your day off.  It’s you stealing all my t-shirts, even though I bought identical ones just for you because you like the ones I’ve ‘broken in’ better. It’s our toothbrushes chilling in the cup like an old married couple sitting on a park bench. Side note: if you can’t squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom up, you can’t use mine. I can’t abide by such nonsense. That’s my line, Darcy Lewis. That’s my hard limit.” 

 

Darcy hides the smile spread wide across her face. “Girlfriend stuff doesn’t sound that great. Sounds kind of annoying.” 

 

“Well, that’s where you're wrong, princess.” Tony pulls back enough to look at her face and Darcy---Darcy expected a smile, but Tony looks---serious. It’s the same expression he gives particularly complex machinery as he’s taking it apart. “It’s my favorite part of every day.” 

 

Darcy believes him.  She thinks she might provide little pockets of normality in an otherwise psychotic life, not just for Tony, but for all of them. “What...What would Bucky be?” 

 

Tony does smile then, a wide thing with all his perfect teeth. “Go figure. You can ask me for almost anything in the world and you’re gonna ask for another boyfriend.” 

 

“Tony, I don’t---” 

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony coos, as if soothing her distress. “I’m not worried about Bucky. You’re still mine. And mine first. You can seduce Barnes. Can you do it somewhere public so I can watch though?” 

 

“I don’t think he’s the type.” 

 

“Is it weird that I kind of get off on watching him just---fail at not watching you.  It turns me on watching other men  _ want  _ to fuck you almost as much as it turns me on to watch them actually fuck you.” 

 

“Weird? Yes. But weird is what we do.” She sighs, and burrows into his chest, fingers curling into the white cotton of his tee. “Any pointers? Because I don’t even know where to begin.” 

 

“Well. He laid one on you when you were being frighteningly competent in a hostile situation. Maybe ask him for some target practice.” 

 

Darcy can’t help but protest. She practices with Clint _ all the time _ . “I am an excellent shot!” 

“Hand to hand, then. Or maybe knives.” He’s kissing her neck again, dragging that perfect mouth up the curve of her throat even as Darcy gets a hand down the front of his pants. He’s hard and she  _ loves  _ it.  The honesty in his words is only backed up by his body; Tony  _ wants  _ her. Darcy kind of loves him like crazy. “I’d kind of like to see you throw knives.” 

 

“Well, how about you throw me up on this counter now and I figure out the lethal weapon stuff later.” 

 

Tony smirks, a peek of perfect teeth behind his neatly trimmed beard. Darcy finds herself spun on her toes. He lifts her easily, depositing her belly down on the counter.  Her toes don’t touch the floor like this, and she has nothing to brace against as her fingers scrabble against the slick marble top. “ _ Fuck _ .” 

 

He pulls at her shorts and she does her very best to lift up enough to let him pull them down.  Tony’s fingertips are rough where they drag over the round curve of her ass and down- pushing her cheeks apart, exposing everything. “Baby,” he sighs, leaning down to bite at the dimple just above her left ass cheek. “You are too good to me.” 

 

“You’re crazy,” Darcy manages to squeak, before Tony’s working two fingers into her sticky cunt. “Fuck---” 

 

“Don’t rush me, I’m playing. I’m having fun,” Tony chastises, thumbing her clit. “I cannot accurately tell you how many women I’ve been with. Did you know that? I have  _ no idea _ .” He uses his other hand, pressing his thumb over her asshole---fucking Dr.Banner gave him ideas. “Happy knows. Happy has a book somewhere for legal reasons. Alibis. Paternity denial. The usual. But I don’t care to see it. I mean, I’m a genius, don’t get me wrong, I could probably drum up a number. I just... I don’t give a shit about how many women I’ve buried my dick in, do you know why?” 

 

He’s going to say something grossly intimate about her downstair situation, but still somehow strangely romantic, she just knows it. “No?”

 

He fucks her deftly, quickly, with his fingers, never pressing exactly where she needs and he knows it too. He’s playing. Walking her to the edge, and pulling her back until she feels on a brink that will never end. “Because none of them were worth remembering, honey.  Very few of them were even worth fucking twice.” It’s not very nice, but then--- Tony isn’t exactly a nice guy. He’s a dick. But...well. It’s working for her. “But I cannot get enough of ours. I don’t even need to fuck you---” 

 

“Yeah but----” she sucks in a sharp breath when he slips a third finger into her. She can take it, God----she can take it. She's just not used to it, from him. “You really should.” 

 

“They didn’t let me play,” he continues, like she hadn’t said a thing.“Up, up. On your knees.” He doesn’t wait for her to figure out the logistics herself, just slips his hands under her hips and hauls her up.  She’s still chest -down on the counter, ass high and she knows. She knows it probably looks obscene. Over her shoulder, she watches Tony grin, as he pushes her thighs apart once more. Darcy knows what he’s going to do before he does it, so she pushes her ass back, even as he pushes both thumbs in and spreads her wide. He’s up close now, just the way he likes it, looking  _ inside  _ of her like an absolute freak. “This,” he sighs and Darcy can feel her cunt twitching, grasping at nothing, wanting.  _ Fluttering _ . She’s seen the porn. She knows what he’s about. “I couldn’t do this with a one night stand.” 

 

“Because it’s fucking weird,” Darcy manages to say without moaning. She doesn’t know how she can feel empty and full all at once, but Tony’s a genius so it doesn’t surprise her that he’s figured it out.  It’s awful, it’s terrible, she fucking hates it but God---she fucking loves it. Little broken noises spill from her mouth, whole body twitching. 

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, almost absentmindedly, pulling one thumb away to replace it with two fingers.  The slow, methodical push-pull of his fingers make her thighs shake, and she knows he’s watching her grow wetter at his command. “Christ, Darcy. You really have no idea what this does for me.”    
  


Darcy would like to argue that she has some idea, seeing as she can feel herself dripping and all he’s doing is fucking her with two clever fingers. She shouldn’t be so easy, but ----here she is. Pushing back against his hand. 

 

“Fuck ---yeah. That’s right. Fuck yourself with them. Jesus---Darcy that’s just---” 

 

“I’m not doing it because you told me too,” Darcy argues, bracing herself on her elbows.  Tony still has a hand on her ass, holding her apart, and Darcy pushes back against the weight of it.  Tony works another finger inside of her, the bastard. She can hear herself - soaked, and squelching, it’s embarrassing. Except she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. She can’t come this way, and she wants to cry but also maybe try. 

  
  


Tony laughs, even as he fucks his fingers into her harder. It’s torture - a slow climb she can’t find the peak too but still feels herself rising.  “I shouldn’t be this hard from foreplay,” he tells her, struggling to sound serious. “I shouldn’t---this is ridiculous. How could you ever think you’re not good for me.” She must make a noise because his hand stops. “You are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever done.” 

 

“I’m like---pretty certain you mean that as a compliment,” Darcy sputters out, even as he pulls her from the counter, tumbling her back against his chest.  They both stumble back, but Tony keeps them upright just long enough to spill himself into one of the kitchen chairs, Darcy in his lap. 

 

He pulls her back against his chest, pushing her thighs wide open with his own. Darcy can feel his cock like a brand, hot against the small of her back where he grinds himself against her. Across the kitchen, the sun has disappeared behind the stacked skyline just enough that the windows reflect. Darcy can see---Everything. Darcy can see everything, the shape of her own body, the pink of her own cunt, the heat in Tony’s eyes as he skates his hands over every curve of her body.  Darcy looks high, heavy-lidded and opened mouth as she watches Tony’s hands smooth over her tits and down her belly, to play between her thighs. 

 

She gasps at the first touch to her clit, oversensitive and impatient. “Oh---” 

 

“You need to come first,” he tells her, a little ruefully. “Before I fuck you.” 

 

Darcy disagrees. “No---no, I need you in me to come.”  It’s like an ache they’ve somehow bred inside of her - her boys. Nothing felt so good as coming on their cocks, not a single fucking thing. None better than the other - they’re all just so fucking good to her.  “Please.” 

Tony swears. “I’m not gonna last,” he says, between teeth, still working brutal little circles over her clit. It’s too much, Darcy just needs him inside of her to come. “Baby---” 

 

“Fuck me,” Darcy tells him, a little hysterical. “Tony, please---” 

 

“God,” Tony cries, cock twitching hard against her back. “Lean forward.” 

 

She does, catching one hand on the kitchen table and bracing her other hand on his knee.  The first push of his cock is like nothing and everything all at once - Darcy can feel every single fucking inch of him sinking inside of her, the sweet pull of flesh against flesh. Her body shakes - fulfilled----and she can’t help but cry out. 

 

She doesn't mean to say it. Sure, she says it sometimes, deliberately and with purpose but this time.  _ This  _ time---she doesn’t mean to say it. 

  
  


“Daddy!” She feels Tony shudder beneath her - dick twitching hard inside of her and she didn’t get it before, the kink.  It was fun, yes, but she didn’t  _ understand  _ it.  She thinks she does now, full of his cock and the helpless, starved sort of hunger to come he’s grown in her belly with his perfect, wicked fingers. She didn’t mean to say it but it feels right, int he moment, and so she says it again, as she braces both hands on his knees and pushes back against him. “Daddy---Daddy----” 

 

Tony’s got both hands on her hips, fucking her down on his cock too-hard, his feet locked around the legs of the chair, holding them in place.  Darcy thinks---she’s going to come like this. Bouncing on his cock, nearly crying. 

 

“Fucking--fuck,” Tony growls, fingers biting into her skin as he shakes beneath her. “God---Kitten----Fuck, yes----you’re just---you are so perfect,” he spits out, and Darcy watches in the reflection, as he tips his head back, and fucks up into her, thick muscled thighs flexing beneath the soft round curves of her ass. “Darcy---Darcy---” He comes, body bowing to mold against her as he shakes and shudders beneath her. 

 

She leans back so she can see better, the place where their bodies join---and the angle does something, drags his beautiful cock deeper inside her and Darcy feels her own body tighten as she comes, pussy fluttering over Tony’s spent cock, milking him harder---

 

“Fucking----” Darcy pants, sinking against him, a sticky, sweaty mess. “Fucking---fucking---Christ.” 

 

Tony presses his mouth to her throat and bites once before kissing her sweetly there. “I love you,” he tells her, wrapping his sweaty arms around her equally sweaty stomach. “Let’s go shower.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky belongs on top of her. It is his place in life, Darcy’s sure of it. Because nothing could feel so important, so pivotal, so pressing, as the tentative weight of him against her as he leans down to kiss her, bitten lips parting with just a little stutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky/Darcy

And  _ that’s  _ how she ends up in the small target range in one of the Avenger floors of the tower. Clint’s curled over her spine with his hands on her hips as he lines up her arm for the arc, showing her the right way to hold the knife. “Pull back, and---release.” 

 

She does...aaaaand her knife falls short of the target by about three feet which is embarrassing and not at all a good way to be frighteningly competent, as Tony put it. She sort of suspected that would be the case, which is why she asked Clint instead of Bucky. She’d rather him not see her spectacular fuckery. “Fuck it,” Darcy mutters, leaning back into Clint. “I don’t need knives. I have guns. And boyfriends.” 

 

“Quittin’ that quick?” He teases, placing another knife in her hand. “Try again. A bullet doesn’t need perfect balance. It needs direction, but it has its own force. A knife requires strength  _ and  _ direction.” 

 

Which, unfair! Darcy spends a disgusting amount of time working out. Like, an offensive amount. “I’m strong! You said if I could lift my own body weight, I’m good.” 

 

“Not that kind of strength,” he soothes her, positioning the knife correctly in her hand. His fingertips are rough, calloused and scarred in place with no super juice to heal him.  Like Tony, Clint is very, very human. “It requires you to focus your strength, direct it. You have to understand the balance of the blade, know instinctively when to release it.” 

 

“Show me,” Darcy decides, flipping the knife in her palm, butt-out to hand it to him. That much she can do. That much he taught her eons ago, in the desert stretches of Puente Antiguo. Long before the fucking. 

 

Clint takes the knife and flings it in a perfect spin, nailing the target dead center fifteen feet away without ever so much as taking his eyes off her, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  He is a bastard, a smug bastard, but it’s a good look for him. 

 

“That is so goddamn hot. Teach me to do that.” 

 

He moves back into position behind her. “You’d have had to start at about five years old babe, but I think we can get you good.” His hands are wandering, careful still of her rib cage, even as the move to cup the swell of her breast. Of all her boys, Clint appreciates her tits the most. At least---he touches them all the damn time. Darcy thinks it’s like thumb-sucking, it’s become an absent-minded soothing gesture or some shit. “You really think it’s hot?” 

 

“Uh, yeah? Why does that surprise you? You got hard watching the cam feed during debrief for the robot spider bullshit,” she teases, grinning up at Clint shamelessly. “You gonna pretend you didn’t like the way my fingers look wrapped around a .22?” 

 

“I like the way your fingers look wrapped around a lot of things” he grumbles.  “Try the knife again. You want to release it before you feel the handle begin to lose balance, and tip forward. That’s why it fell short. If you let go too soon, it won’t get the right spin. You need to do it until your body knows, instinctively, when to let go.” 

 

“Normally when I’m not good at something on the first try, I give up on it completely,” Darcy tells him, with frank sincerity. It’s true. She hates being bad at shit. “But that’s not conductive to seducing Barnes.” 

 

Clint seems to freeze, with his hands on her hips positioning her into place. “Oh? You think knives are gonna do it?:

 

“No. Not really. But I think he likes women who can hold their own. Don’t get me wrong. I want to throw knives,” she assures him, pushing her ass back against him.  Clint’s here to play; he grinds into her, fingertips dipping into the waistband of her leggings. “I just wanna look hot doing it. Barnes likes the guns.” 

 

“A lot of us liked the guns, sugar tits.” He steps back, allowing her room to move. “Here I thought you were making a move on me, and you’re just using me to get on Barnes’ dick.” 

 

“And I’m not even sorry.  Like I gotta make a move on you.”  Darcy tests her throw once, twice, before throwing. This time, it hits the target, bottom left corner, wildly beyond the outer ring, but sinks into the foam nonetheless. It’s progress. “This is fun! I love this. That was better, right?” 

 

“Yes. Raise your arm, and turn your hips out a little, feed spread farther apart next time.” He does it for her, hands curled over her side as he turns her. Darcy shouldn’t---shouldn’t feel a little flutter when he kicks her feet farther apart. But she does.  She’s into it. “You really think this is fun?” 

 

“Uh, yeah? I wanna look as hot as you do when you do it. But mostly, I’d like to be good at it? I mean I doubt it’s ever going to save my life but I feel like it’s good to know.” She does as he’s instructed, raising her arm an inch or so higher. It’s harder to tell when the balance tips in the blade at this angle, but her knife hits the target higher this time, nicking the outer blue ring. It doesn’t sink deep enough to stick, falling to the ground a moment later. “I can’t tell if that was better, or worse.” 

 

“Better. Just remember to extend your arm on the follow through, keep the force straight.” He shows her, collecting another knife and launching it into the target, dead center like last time, arm extended. Darcy thinks he’s just showing off. And she  _ appreciates  _ it. Clint’s got a lot to show that she really wants to see.“Again?” 

 

“Again,” Darcy agrees, collecting a knife. She positions it in her hand without his help and turns her body at the angle he suggested, feed spread wider apart.  She can sense the way the position balances her body, and when she raises her arm---she  _ feels _ it, in the burn and stretch of her muscles. She throws hard, letting the weight of the knife lead itself, releasing the blade before the balance tips. It sails through the air, sinking hilt-deep into the upper edge of the middle red ring. “Oh. Hey! I did it! Fuck yeah!” 

 

Clint kisses her. The dirty, deep kind of kiss that makes nothing else matter. He digs his hands into her hair and pulls her up against him, angling her so he can kiss her harder, faster, messier, a little homage to their fucking. It’s...amazing, honestly.  He isn’t typically the one to initiate kissing. Darcy thinks it might be a Natasha thing; Nat doesn’t seem like the kissing type and she and Barton have a legitimate  _ thing _ . She’s not sure what’s gotten into him but she fucking likes it. 

 

“Why not ask Bucky to show you?”  He hedges, a little breathless, a little awkward. Insecurity does that to a person. Darcy plans to kiss that right out of him. 

 

“I don’t know him well enough to be bad at things in front of him,” Darcy admits, just as awkward. “But I can trust you, you know? You wouldn’t embarrass me. I don’t think Bucky would either, it’s just...different with you. I don’t want to disappoint him, or...or not be what he thinks I am...With you...We take each other as we are.” She shifts from foot to foot, blushing under the little smile he gives her. Tony’s words linger in the back of her mind: Clint and she are friends. Real friends. Outside of the sex, they....get each other.  “You gonna kiss me every time I get it right because I do like an incentive.” She grins up at him.“What do I get if I hit the center?” 

 

Clint takes a step back and deposits another knife into her hand. “How ‘bout you hit the center and I show you?” 

 

“I forgot how to position my hips; you better show me again.” 

 

He clearly doesn’t buy it, but he puts his hands on her anyway, moving her with firm, sure pushes.  “Again,” he says, curled over her back once more, cheek to hers. He raises her arm, bending it at the elbow, knife held between her thumb and forefinger.  Darcy takes a moment just to breathe after he steps away. 

 

She never does hit the center, but she hits the inner blue ring with fair consistency.  It’s good, she knows it’s good for her first day, but it still smacks of failure to her.  She doesn’t like being bad at things. “Ugh,” she grunts, wiping the last knife a scant too hard. It hits low left on the inner blue ring, but deep. “What am I doing wrong?” 

 

Clint doesn’t answer right away, busy fucking with the case the knives had come in, a long black metal box with heavy duty hinges. It looks more suitable to carry a grenade launcher, honestly. She’s seen similar cases stacked in his room, like unpacked luggage, and suddenly never, ever wants to know what’s inside of them.

  
  


“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Bucky materializes from the corner behind their booth, scaring the shit of her. Clint doesn’t startle. He gives Bucky a passing, cursory glance that tells Darcy he knew he was there all along, maybe from the beginning, the dick. “You’re doing very well, for your first day.” Which tells Darcy two things: she is doing good because Barnes wouldn’t humor her, and he had been  _ watching  _ her. 

He picks up one of Clint’s knives, tossing it and spinning with a lethal-looking casualness that says he’s spent a significant amount of time in his life palming various weapons. “These knives aren’t balanced for your hands.  They need more force. They’re designed to accommodate someone with significant upper body strength like Barton or myself. You need something smaller, better suited for speed over strength.” He tosses the knife up in the air with a flourish. “And Barton was taught to throw for show. Entertainment. It works very well for him because he’s done it so long, but the spin isn’t necessary.” 

 

“But it’s fun!” Clint protests, but he doesn’t deny the claim. “And it looks cool. Points for Style, Barnes.” 

 

Bucky deposits a small leather case onto the artillery table and unrolls it with the exact same kind of flourish he accused Clint of.  There are six knives within, made of a gleaming black metal Darcy couldn’t name. They’re markedly smaller than Clint’s knives; six inches, a long narrow blade shaped right into the handle with very little hilt. “How’d you know I’d be here?” 

 

“Barton wouldn’t have booked this booth for himself. It’s short range, stationary. He doesn’t need the practice.” Bucky isn’t looking at Clint as he speaks, or even Darcy, really. He’s looking at her hands, at her fingers where they dance across the thin metal butts of the knives he’d brought her. “So I asked Stark.” 

 

Clint inspects the knives over Darcy’s shoulder, though he’s curiously careful not to touch her.  Darcy wonders what that’s about, hope there isn’t contention. More likely, he knows his casual affection, sexual or otherwise, will make Bucky  _ weird _ . Clint’s easy like that, good like that. He’s a friend. A best friend, really. “These are  _ nice _ . Who's the maker? I’ve never seen this handle.” 

 

Bucky flushes a little, and Darcy loves it. “I cut them myself to fit Darcy’s hands. Stark has some very specific measurements for you, Darcy. It was weird but...helpful for the process.”

 

“Nat will be jealous,” Clint announces, still eying Darcy’s knives with what she suspects is a hint of jealousy. Darcy herself doesn’t know enough to understand their worth. But she knows that Bucky made them for her and that’s enough. “You taking over?”

 

“Oh Clint, you don’t have to leave.” Darcy’s not the type to ditch one of her boys for another. It wouldn’t be right. “Really, I don’t want to---” 

 

“Nah - Barnes is a better teacher than I’ll ever be. I didn’t even think to find something for your weight.” He smiles ruefully. “He taught Nat, Darcy. You should count yourself lucky.” 

 

“I do,” she says, catching Clint’s eye, and smiling.  She counts herself lucky for a lot of things and Clint is certainly one of them. She darts forward before he can escape, pressing a quick kiss to his surprised mouth.  If Bucky wants to be a part of...whatever it is she’s doing...Well. He’ll have to get used to the others. “Thanks for trying.” 

 

His gaze skitters to Bucky, but he pulls her into a quick hug anyway, dragging his scruff over her messy hair. “Anytime, sugar.” 

Darcy waits for him to leave before turning back to the super soldier lurking in the shadows of her target booth. “You made me knives.” 

 

“They’re called Stilettos.” Bucky grins, and Darcy  _ loves  _ it. He doesn’t smile like that around the team. It’s for Darcy and Darcy alone.  “The handle and the blade are perfectly balanced. I asked Tony for help with the calculations,” he admits, with a rueful little grin. “I didn't think he'd have the measurements for your hands. I just figured he...knew them better. But we ran the calculations to find the right weight, so it worked out.” 

 

“He knows them very well,” Darcy admits, winking. She picks up the first in the row, and it feels....not delicate, exactly. It feels the same way a six-inch stiletto makes you feel beneath your heel. Precarious. Dangerous. Powerful. Flipping it end-up is easier and she catches the tip between her finger and thumb like nothing at all. “Oh wow.” 

 

Bucky seems to understand. “They feel better? Here, hold them the other way.  They’re lighter. You don’t need to use their own weight for force, just your own.” He repositions the knife in her hand so the hilt is resting in the web between her thumb and forefinger, the butt held between her fingertips. “Hold it very, very lightly. Just let them rest.  Release when you feel the shift.” 

 

“Yeah. Lemme...” She nudges her way past him, body falling into position, feet apart, arm raised. She doesn’t practice the throw, doesn’t hesitate. She throws, letting go as the gentle weight of the but pulls just right.  It sings through the air, with far more force than the last, sinking deep into the innermost white ring. Not the center, not even  _ close _ , but Darcy can feel the difference.“Oh yeah. I need to do that again.” The next one lands only inches above the center and Darcy already knows how to correct it. “Gimme, gimme.” Bucky has a third knife ready, and he slips it into her hand with a bemused little smirk. 

 

Darcy nails the third knife. Not  _ dead  _ center, but center enough.  She hisses through her teeth- genuinely surprised. “Dude.” 

 

“Barton had the right idea though,” Bucky says quickly scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He doesn’t believe he’s capable of anything good, Darcy’s comet to learn. “He’s probably started throwing buck knives on a whim and it’s just what he got used too. They’re not really suitable as a weapon; he’s just  _ very  _ good with them.” He winces a little. “It’s not what I would have taught with.” 

 

“You really taught Nat how to throw knives?”  Darcy has no aspirations to become a super spy, or assassin or even a vigilante hero. She just wants to keep up. 

 

Bucky leans against the beam supporting the bulletproof overhead of their booth. He has far away looked, shadowed. “I taught Natalia everything she knows.” 

 

“Oh.”  _ Oh.  _ Darcy sometimes forgets who Bucky was, once upon a time. She knows it’s probably batshit crazy, but she genuinely forgets he was the Winter Soldier.  “Bad memories?” 

 

His mouth quirks, a curious smile Darcy wishes she understood better. “Not all of them. Some of the better ones, really.” 

 

“You were lovers.” It doesn’t come out a question and she does n’t even mean to say it. Natalia and The Winter Soldier were lovers. Bucky Barnes wasn’t even there and Natasha? Natasha doesn’t even like anyone but Clint. Probably. 

 

“For a time. But I don’t remember it. ” 

 

“Are you now?” She winces, with her whole body, sharp and hard. “Sorry. Sorry. I--- that's not my business. I don’t know why I asked that. You don’t need to tell me.” 

 

“We're not. She wouldn't find anything familiar in me, anything she might be looking for and I'm not... Natasha isn't... For me.” He holds her gaze in a way he never does as he says it. “It...it could be your business. I mean. We're kind of... And I know about your...uh. Others.” 

 

Darcy supposes that's true, but she held no illusion that her brand of shameless living is for everyone. Let alone Bucky Barnes. “Does it bother you?” She doesn't think it'll work if it does. “My others, I mean.” 

 

To his credit, he doesn't immediately deny it.  Darcy likes a man who mulls, over a man who lies.  “It's different,” he decides, fucking with one of Clint's bulky knives. “It seemed... Offensive, before. Dirty, kinda. Cheap---and women should never be treated that way. Let alone wanna be treated that way and you just...seemed to like it. I couldn’t understand that The things they did - you liked it.  But I thought...There were women in the war... Working gals, you know? Making ends meet one way or another and me... Never looked down on them. They were doing a job.” Bucky can’t know she knows he's been with those kinda women, and she doesn't volunteer the information. “So I thought... Well. Why should I spite someone for doing... That... Because they  _ want _ too when I didn't when they had too?” 

 

“I think it would make sense if you did though,” Darcy pushes because she needs to be sure. She needs Bucky to be sure. “They didn't have a choice. I do. I do what I do because I want to and I love it.  At times it  _ is _ dirty, and I like that about it.” 

 

Bucky nods, maybe to himself, Darcy doesn't know. “They treat you right?”

 

“Everyone of em,” Darcy says firmly. “They’re good, Bucky.”  _ And so are you _ , she wants to say but he won’t believe it and arguing will serve no purpose. 

 

“I think...I  think it should upset me more than it does. Because it  _ did _ .” Darcy remembers how angry it had made him, how low he'd thought of her, though she suspects part of that fury was fueled by desire. “And I don't know how to... acclimate the... Acceptance. Because I should be put off. But I'm not... Not really, anymore.” He wrinkles his nose up and it should be ridiculous that a man capable of killing thirty people in three minutes should look so fucking cute, but here they stand. “That said---It doesn’t exactly do it for me either. Like Stark.” 

 

“No worries. Tony’s the only one really into that aspect. Steve too, I guess. A little.” Darcy doesn't know what to make of him.  She picks up one of the knives from the table. It isn't like the ones Bucky brought, heavier, but about the same length. She tests the weight in her hand and shifts her feet like Clint taught her. “What changed?” She asks, before throwing.  She nicks the upper inner ring, sinking deep, and smiles. “What changed your mind, I mean? What made you not think I was just a little---what did you call me? A mu----” 

 

He’s quick to cut her off, a furious little frown on his pretty face. “Because you're equal.” 

 

She looks at him, at that, curious. “What?”

 

“It's the idea of them... Using you. Or hurting you. Or.... put you in a position where you feel inclined...or... But, they don't have that power over you, do they? It's not like... When I was your age, Darcy... Men had position over women. And they used it. And sometimes women convinced themselves they should be grateful for it or....or they were scared. Or pressured. Or they just thought it was the thing done - not telling men no.  But it's not like that for you. For anyone else... Any other girl in bed with a team like this, maybe. They might think they couldn’t say no because it’s the  _ Avengers  _ and they should be so fuckin’ lucky.” He spits the team epitaph with a firm sort of dervishes and Darcy thinks that’s something to touch on later. “But you...aren’t just a bed warmer, and you ain’t using it to get nowhere. You’re not climbing’ ranks. And it isn’t because they love you. It’s because you  _ know  _ you’re more than that. They love you because you’re more, you’re not more because they love you. You make yourself more than that. More than us---than what you are for us. ” He tips his head toward the range. “This? You’re not with us. You’re  _ with _ us.” He looks away from her, and Darcy wishes she could soothe the furrow of his brow, kiss it away. “It’s real easy to get pulled under a man, then and now, but it takes the right kind of woman to stand beside one. And you stand beside six.” 

 

“Seven.” She can feel herself blushing. It's the stupidest thing. Darcy knows she’s something like a baby badass. Not the baddest of asses in their Ivory Tower certainly,  but on a civilian level, Darcy is Not To Be Fucked With. But there's something about the affirmation, about Bucky’s acknowledgment that makes her feel warm in places other than between her legs.  There too, but...other places. “I just want to keep up.” It doesn’t spill from her mouth with her usual bravado or wild confidence. It’s simply said. “I don’t have any dreams of being bigger than what I am.” 

 

“ _ That’s _ why it doesn’t upset me. You are exactly where you want to be, at any given moment. Not very many people can say that.” He shrugs, before planting one hand on the edge of the booth and launching himself through the window. Strictly speaking, it’s not exactly allowed but that doesn’t stop Darcy from following suit, albeit with a bit less grace. “Just like they’re not using you, you’re not using them.”  Bucky doesn’t comment on her waffling agility, but she doesn’t miss his goddamn smile. 

 

He collects Clint’s knives, while Darcy collects the neat little blades. They weigh practically nothing in her palm. “You really made these?” 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky doesn’t grunt, but it’s a near thing.  Darcy’s beginning to think he’s about as awkward as Steve when it comes to taking a compliment. “Stark helped. Kind of.” 

 

“You mean Tony stood behind you and bitched that you were doing everything wrong and then pouted when they came out perfectly regardless.” Darcy’s met Tony, after all. She knows how he works. 

 

Bucky laughs a quiet little thing.  Almost all of Bucky is quiet. His laughs, his smiles, his steps. Darcy wonders how much is Winter Soldier, and how much is just Bucky Barnes. “Yeah. Something like that.” 

 

Darcy can very easily imagine Tony hovering at Bucky’s elbow, shifting from foot to foot, listening every way he would improve Bucky’s design or execution and then muttering some sort of surprised praise. “You went through all that trouble,” Darcy hedges, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “For me.” 

 

Bucky smiles too, and even though it’s small, Darcy’s come to love it. “Yeah.”

 

She thinks about what Steve said, his suggestions for the best way to get Bucky in bed without spiraling him into some sort of mental break. They’re good suggestions. It’s just...Darcy sort of thinks...maybe...

 

Once the range is cleared, and knives put away in their booth, she hikes herself up onto the artillery table, legs swinging a foot off the ground. “C’mere.” 

 

Bucky doesn’t do anything so silly as to look behind to make sure she’s talking to him, but Darcy sort of feels the gesture in his hesitance. “Um.” 

 

“Promise not to bite unless you’re into it,” she tells him solemnly, making a little space for him between her knees. “C’mon. I’m fully dressed this time. That’s practically proper. I’m wearing jeans. Girls didn’t even do that way back when.” ” 

 

It startles a little laugh out of him, and he steps forward all skittery nervous grace. “I feel like there’s very little about you that’s proper.” It sounds like an insult but it’s said so sweetly, Darcy can’t help but grin. 

 

“True, but I’ve been schooled. I’m not supposed to proposition you in public,” she tells him, with mock solemnity, swinging her legs and pushing her chest out just a teeny bit. “Or on our first date. Or within the next four weeks. I can’t put my hands....or mouth... Anywhere below the neck.  Or under clothes. I’m fairly certain I'm supposed to have a chaperone, actually. Steve said so.” 

 

Bucky swallows, as Darcy hooks her hand into his belt but he doesn’t move to stop her. “Steve’s a punk.” 

 

She lets her hand slide back and thinks maybe he almost looks a tiny bit disappointed. It would make sense; he needs Darcy to take the lead. But...Darcy has other plans. “Yeah, but he knows you better than me so I gotta play by the rules.” 

 

Softly, so softly, Bucky puts his hands on her thighs, unbidden but very welcome. “Are we...playing games?” 

 

“Baseball,” she winks and bumps her toe of her boots against his shin until he moves forward, into the space she's made for him.  He lets his hands wander up, over the bunched material of her t-shirt, to rest on her waist. It's a simple touch, innocent, but Darcy can't fathom how good it feels, his hands on her  “What do you know about first base?” At his confused frown, Darcy explains. “First base is kissing.” 

 

“We’ve kissed.” She watches in utter endearment as a slow, pink blush spreads across his pale skin like watercolor sunsets. “And the uh...the other bases?” 

 

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” she promises, tipping her head back even as she leans against him. “For now...” 

 

Bucky belongs on top of her. It is his place in life, Darcy’s sure of it. Because nothing could feel so important, so pivotal, so pressing, as the tentative weight of him against her as he leans down to kiss her, bitten lips parting with just a little stutter. 

 

Playing coy, running the bases, sweet little tortures...That’s how Steve would date Bucky ( and isn’t  _ that  _ a thought).  There’s merit to it, Darcy won’t deny (Bucky is sensitive, Bucky is  _ sweet  _ and he deserves such in kind), but....she isn’t Steve and she hasn’t been wrong about a single one of her boys yet. 

 

Slowly, she raises one leg up to his thigh, knee pressing into his hip.  _ Slowly,  _ he lets her, strong hands cupping the curve of her thigh. Slowly, even as she opens her mouth a little more to his, the soft push and pull of his tongue against her own undoes the last remaining shred of dignity and reserve she possesses. 

 

Darcy  _ moans _ . 

 

Bucky’s sharp, shocked inhale steals her honest breath away and Darcy can’t help the little tremble that shakes her right into him.  Like the startled rabbit she knows him to be, Bucky’s eyes widen, the bulk of his body going perfectly still against her. Like he doesn’t know what he’s capable of, what he does to her.  He’s waiting, she thinks, for her to lead the way. It’s a now or never kind of moment, regardless that they’d gone farther the first time ( not by much, but they had) and she knows whatever she does next----decides the game. 

 

If it were Tony - he’d know before her, probably.  If it were Clint - she’d tell him exactly what she wanted. If it were Thor---Thor made the rules.  Steve - Steve would be on his way to making her beg.

 

Bucky isn’t like any of her boys and so Darcy does something she’s never tried before. 

 

She just asks. 

 

“Do you want to?” she asks, looping an arm around his shoulders. She drags her hand up his neck, nails scratching through his hair and Bucky swallows. “Can we?”

 

It’s a  question of purpose and a vague one at that.  Darcy  _ wants  _ Bucky, deeply and with great impatience, but she can’t hold his hand through it, can’t pull him along. She needs him there, with her, willing and wanting. So it’s a question, vague and open and full of promise.

 

Bucky hesitates, the little shivers of his body vibrating across her skin. “Do you...want to?” And just like she wanted him too---- Bucky’s decided what Darcy’s asked for. He’s decided already, what  _ can we _ means. 

 

“Yes.” She raises a brow at him, and smiles. “Do you?” 

 

The hand on her thigh - the metal hand - flexes ever so slightly. “I----” Bucky says and winces. “You----” 

 

“Us. We.” Darcy supplies, rolling her hips just a bit. “There’s no you and I here, sugar ---just us. We can want things together, you know.  This stuff--takes two. Doesn’t have to be selfish.” She can imagine that sex with prostitutes would feel selfish. Her poor baby - Bucky has a lot to work through. 

 

He swallows, the blue haze of his gaze lingering on her mouth. “We....can.” 

 

“We can?” Darcy repeats, dragging her nails through the hair at the nape of his neck.  It makes his lashes stutter, and Darcy will hold onto the sight of that forever. She pulls him down until they’re considerable chest to considerable chest. Bucky  _ stumbles _ , stumbles forward, until-----She can feel how hard he is already, from a single kiss and the press of her body. She holds tight, sinking her nails into the soft baby-haired skin of his neck, thighs locking against his before he can escape. 

 

He isn’t quite silent in this, bless him. “Oh, fu--- I mean ----fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” 

 

Darcy’s pushed up just far enough to get her mouth on the cut of his jaw, peppered in stubble. She bites, just a little, and then licks away the hurt. 

 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Bucky hisses between his own teeth, as he pushes against her mouth helplessly, so like a feral cat, sharp-clawed but desperate for touch. “Yes---okay.” 

 

“Okay?” Darcy repeats again, licking over the soft dip of his throat. She has an idea that in His Day, guys did this to girls....not the other way around. “You want too?” 

 

“I--I---” She sucks - knows a hickey will last as long as it takes her to make a second one- and feels the roll of Bucky’s throat beneath her mouth as he swallows. “ _ Christ _ , Doll.  _ Please _ .” 

 

Darcy pulls away, careful to drag her teeth over the tender skin. “Mmm. Sorry. That wasn’t an answer.” 

 

“What?” Bucky’s gaze is dazed, and his mouth is parted and bitten. Darcy wonders if this is how she looks to the others - helpless, and beautiful. She hopes so. “What?” 

 

“You didn’t answer,” Darcy pushes against him, letting her hand slide down to curl in the front of his tac vest. “I asked a question.”    
  


He blinks, hair falling into his face as he stares at her blankly, body tight against hers. “Question.” 

 

“I asked you if you wanted too,” she presses, letting her fingers slide up his chest. He is---a very solid man. “But you never said yes. I just want to be really, really, really,” she wiggles closer until he’s sure to feel the heat between her legs. “ _ Sure _ . That you want too.” 

  
  


He bites his lip, a pained, wanting, needing little gesture that makes her own heart beat harder.  Darcy’s not---she’s not sure she can hold his gaze. Bucky is  _ intense _ , everything out in the open in those pretty baby blues. His face tells her everything she needs to know, and she wonders if that’s why they made him wear a mask.  “I---” he begins again, teeth clenching. He can’t make the words and Darcy thinks maybe she made a bad call when he leans forward, molding his body against hers, cheek to cheek.   _ I want too _ , she waits to hear, as she feels Bucky’s mouth press against her neck, just below her ear, and his body press against her everything else. 

 

His breath shudders over her skin, and when he speaks, she barely hears it.  _ “I want you.”  _

 

_ God _ , Darcy thinks. Yeah. That's better. 

 

They turn into each other, the most synchronicity they’ve managed since meeting.  Bucky gets his hands in her hair and he physically - _ bodily _ \- moves her against him, tilting her face so he can kiss her deeper, hauling her body closer.  He manhandles her with paradoxical gentleness, and Darcy can’t spread her legs wide enough frankly. Can’t get him close enough without him fucking his way inside her.  God---but she wants it. She fucking wants it. 

  
  


“What’d Steve say we couldn’t do?” Darcy can feel the smile in his voice, and it’s heartening. 

 

“Uh----Nothing---Nothing in public, nothing below the clothes,” she tells him, as he slips his hand up the back of her shirt, mouth still pressing kisses to her throat.  “Nothing below the waist.” 

 

Bucky laughs into the curve of her throat, and bites, very gently. “Steve sounds like a prude.” 

 

It startles a little laugh out of her, as she tips her head back. “What he sounds like is a hypocrite. The first place he had me was an elevator.” 

 

Bucky pulls back and Darcy thinks she’s made a mistake, bringing up her and Steve.  But no. Bucky looks---a little impressed. “Really?” 

 

Darcy grins. “Second time too, actually.  He likes getting caught.” 

 

Bucky snorts, even as his eyes wander down her body. “Something like that. He likes getting seen with  _ you _ .  I imagine it does a lot for a man’s pride, being caught all wrapped up in this.”  He says  _ this _ , with his hands on her bare waist, shirt pushed up just under her bra. Darcy’s grown a lot of confidence in her body, but her stomach is soft, and not particularly flat. She likes candy, and she hates running. It’s a thing. His eyes wander from her bare stomach to her legs, thick thighs made thicker by the way she’s sitting, spread eagle with him between them.  “He likes showing you off, sweetheart.” 

 

Darcy----Darcy fucking blushes. “Oh,” she manages. She leans back and flattens her hands against the table to hold herself up. To let him see, to  _ look _ . 

 

Bucky makes a little noise in the back of his throat, even as he raises his hand - the metal one - to drag her shirt up higher, over her chest.  Darcy leans forward, pushing her weight on to one hand so she can pull it up the rest of the way, over her head. She shakes it off and throws it----who really knows where she throws it.  The two sports bras she has on aren’t doing anything particularly flattering for her physique, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. He’s dead-ass staring at her tits, not shamelessly, but  _ helplessly _ .  His other hand - the trembling, pale one - slides over his mouth, a mockery of his mask, the only nervous gesture he seems to allow himself. “You didn’t look,” he tells her, behind his palm. “Guys, I mean. Weren’t suppose to look. Dames didn’t like it.” 

 

_ “I _ like it.” There is something strangely freeing about putting yourself on display for a person. Every flaw out in the open, on exhibit, in broad daylight.  Bucky’s metal hand twitches, where it’s resting on her hip, cool, smooth fingertips dipping into the elastic waist of her leggings. He doesn’t ask, but Darcy feels the question in the way he shakes. “Want these too?”

 

He nods, moving back just enough to let her bring her legs a little closer together,  fingers catching the waistband again, and Darcy pushes off on her hands to lift her hips. He pulls them awkwardly, one side and the next and it isn’t until the cool air of the target room hits freshly bared skin that she remembers. “Oh---shit. Wait---” 

 

Too late. Bucky has her leggings around her knees, material caught in the sudden, shocked clench of his fist. 

 

Because she’s not wearing panties. 

 

She’s not wearing panties because she sort of expected to be fucking Clint by now, and Clint can’t be bothered with undergarments.  Bucky doesn’t -  _ can’t  _ \- look away, eyes wide on the space between her slightly parted legs. “Um.” She swallows, when he doesn’t say anything. “Sorta...forgot I wasn't’ wearing anything else. Sorry---Sorry---”

She doesn’t get a chance to explain why she’s sorry - Bucky wasn’t ready, and here she is flashing her cunt in his face--- When his hands are in her hair again, and he’s hauling her forward---almost off the damn table.  He pushes himself back between her legs and Darcy spreads them on shameless reflex. She’s hot, burning up against the overdressed press of his body as he puts his mouth to hers and all but eats her up. Darcy pulls his hair, pulls him harder against her, bites at his mouth, gives as good as she gets.  His hands never press or pull so hard as she’d like, but the way he shakes against her is---everything, right now. 

 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to hers, eyes cast down her bare body, chest heaving. “You are so fuckin’  _ pretty _ , I just wanna---” Darcy is like---fifty percent sure he’s actually talking to the space between her thighs, but she’s not going to bring that up right now. It’s not the weirdest thing her boys have ever done. Instead, she just leans back farther, and parts her legs a little more, grinning at the throaty, low sound Bucky loses, as his hands leave her hair to grip her hips. “ _ Christ _ .” Bucky licks his lips and Darcy likes the look of  _ that _ . His hand's skitters down her hip to her legs, thumbs sweeping back and forth against the inside of her thighs as he pulls them farther apart until nothing  -absolutely nothing- is hidden from sight. “Can I?” 

 

“Literally anything,” Darcy says, a little too quickly. “For real. Whatever you want. Please.”

 

He draws his thumb down the line of her cunt first - the flesh one, metal hand curled over her thigh still, fingers pressing deep into the soft skin there.  Darcy tries not to squirm, even as Bucky’s lashes flutter close like he can’t possibly look and touch at the same time like it’s just too fucking much. His thumb drags over her clit, and all the air leaves her at once on a low, throaty moan.  Her hand flies to his forearm, gripping weakly. “Anything,” she says, words tumbling out breathlessly. “Seriously. I’m down. I’m not saying now. Vehement yes with bonus  _ please _ .  I can’t be the first girl to beg you to touch them.” 

 

Bucky grins and  _ God _ \---Darcy can’t get enough of that. “No,” he admits, sliding a single finger into her and this is what  _ religion  _ feels like.  Affirmation that it’s just as good as you thought it would be.  _ God---God---God.   _ Somewhere, Thor’s hard in those leather pants and he knows exactly why. “But you’re the first one I’ve given....uh. Into. In to.”  In to, said as he pushes another finger inside of her, and Darcy  _ maybe  _ pushes his thumb away from her clit so she can touch herself the way she needs. “Oh Doll,” Bucky groans, pulling his eyes away again.  He nuzzles his way into the curve of her neck, and presses sharp, biting kisses there. “Christ, Darce’. Tell me...”He swallows, voice going soft, and quiet, right below her ear. “Tell me how you need it. I don’t...I don’t know....”  

 

“Oh, I think you know.” She’s embarrassingly wet already, body conditioned to accommodate quickly and with much enthusiasm. “Faster,” she manages, setting her own pace. “Yeah--- _ fuck _ . Like that. And  _ deep _ .” His fingers are shorter than Steves but wider, and they curl just the right way when she wraps her legs around his hips, leaning back just a little - changing the angle, and losing all sense of propriety as she all but  _ rides  _ his hand. 

 

“Bucky, Bucky--- _ fuck _ . Yes, like that---”  His other hand isn’t still, tangled in her hair, holding her in place, and Darcy’s torn between pulling against it and pushing into it. He’s curled over her, kissing her mouth, her neck, teeth and tongue, and he’s good at that, confident at that, and this is just foreplay - but he’s just so goddamn  _ good,  _ untried hands making quick work of undoing her. She can’t hold herself up anymore, so she holds onto him instead. He matches her pace, deep and fast just like she asked, metronome rhythm exactly what she needs.  The pleasure drags, curling up hard and hot in her belly. He presses into her until she’s laid out flat beneath his weight and it’s all just exactly what she fucking needs. 

 

She watches him through slitted eyes. He’s got his lip between his teeth now, as he watches her body move, his fingers sink inside of her.  Darcy doesn’t even think to hike her legs up, prop her feet on the edge of the table, so he can really see. She’s gonna come. She’s gonna come like this, riding her own hand and his on the target table of a public range, Bucky fucking Barnes standing between her legs. “I’m gonna come like this,” she tells him, remembering how last time he hadn’t been entirely sure. “Bucky---I’m gonna---I’m gonna---” And then she does, whole body locking up, back arching, thighs coming together to trap both their hands. It isn’t like last time----she comes hard, and sudden, slamming to a stop so quickly her heart misses a beat in her chest. 

 

Bucky hauls her back up against him before she can even catch her breath, and he mouths across her jaw, and muffling her panting breath with his own, long, wet groan.  She feels his hips press hard against her, shoving his fingers further inside her and stealing whatever thought she had left in her brain as he comes, untouched, in his pants and Darcy didn’t have a kink before this moment, but she does now. 

 

“Did you----” She asks because she needs to hear him say it. 

 

He doesn’t look at her, face buried in her neck, fingers twitching in her cunt. “ _ Fuck _ . Sorry---” 

 

“Nooo,” Darcy hushes him, hands skittering down his abs, to tug at the button of his pants. “No---Christ, that is so fucking hot---- Can I see?” 

 

“Uh----” Bucky doesn’t answer right away, and Darcy makes herself stop because uh isn’t yes, and she needs a yes. “You---want too?” 

 

“See your dick? Yes.” She holds the zipper between two fingers and feels his half-spent dick twitch beneath her wrist. 

 

Bucky looks away, to the left first, and then up to the ceiling, to nothing at all. “Okay.” 

 

“I’m not just gonna look,” she warns him, dragging the zipper down.  She tucks her fingers into the waist and shoves his pants and boxers down his thick thighs and -----yeah. Yes. It’s like she remembers, in that video Bucky doesn’t know Tony has of him coming in the town car. Thick, thick enough to give Thor a run for his money, with the kind of upcurve she really wants to ride.  Darcy wraps her hand around her and Bucky’s whole body twitches. He’s only half-soft and come-sticky, but she’s pretty certain it won’t take much to bring him back. “Mmmhm. Good?” He’s still looking up, lip caught between his teeth but it doesn’t muffle the deep groan or the way his hands are clenched at his side. “Gonna need more than that, Sarge. Good?” 

“Yes,” he hisses, through his teeth, dropping his gaze to meet hers. Darcy’s hand clenches at the intensity behind his blue eyes, and Bucky chokes on a moan in response, hands moving back to tangle in her hair. “I’m already....” 

 

_ Hard _ . Darcy knows. She can feel him fattening back up in her palm, so thick her fingers have no hope of reaching. She adds her other hand like she has to with Thor, and Bucky kisses her again, deep and wet and dirty.  He’s holding her in place, head tipped back, hips fucking into her fist and Darcy wants to make him come so goddamn bad. “You can,” she murmurs, biting at his mouth. “You can, come on, come on. I want it--- I want it---Bucky----” 

 

He comes, spectacularly for a second shot, clear across her belly, whole body shuddering against hers. Darcy’s shaking too, dazedly stroking his spent cock until he lays his hand on her wrist. “Doll,” he chokes,” mouthing beneath her ear. “Darcy.  _ Fuck _ .” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s going to have to have a talk with Bucky - who seems to have checked back online - about kissing her mid-sentence. Just as soon as she can stop enjoying it. He has her pressed into the wall, hands under her ass holding her crushed against him and he’s hard again - God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha - I was gonna go straight from Buck to Bruce - but Bucky and Steve said nope.

Darcy sorts their clothes out, going so far as to do up Bucky’s pants.  He’s leaned against the table now, just like she had been, both hands curled over the edge, eyes following her every movement. The marked lack of tension in his body is something to marvel, the new slope and fall his considerable shoulders. Darcy grins up at him as she fixes her ponytail and sorts out her shirt. 

 

Bucky’s gaze follows her with a dazed expression, mouth a brilliant kiss-bitten red, even as she reaches up to fix his hair where she’d tangled her fingers in it. “You good?” 

 

He doesn’t answer with words - his mouth, yes, but not words.  He swoops down and kisses her, both hands moving to cup the back of her head. The juxtaposition of his varying palms isn’t jarring but somehow - balancing. Soft and hard. Warm and cold. Rough and gentle. He licks his way into her mouth with finite expertise and Darcy is ready to go again, oh yes - but maybe not Bucky, yes. Not mentally, anyway.  Physically, Darcy’s certain he’s stayed half-mast the entire time. Super soldiers. Hashtag  _ Bless _ ed. 

 

She pulls away when breathing becomes necessary, letting his hands slide from her head to her neck and shoulders. “Kinda took it outta ya, didn’t I?”  When he looks like he might kiss her again, she pulls his hands down and slips one into her own. “Come on - we should get home. You probably want to clean up.”   Clint will collect his things when he’s ready, but Darcy takes a moment to gather up her knives, in their rolled case. 

 

She doesn’t knock on the door, just lets herself in with her hand pressed against the security pad on the lock screen.  She’s been letting herself into the place for as long as she’s been fucking Steve, really. 

 

Steve is home - which Darcy didn’t expect. He looks up both blonde brows raised in surprise. Bucky’s still hanging off her and while she hadn’t expected him to be chatty post-orgasm, the stunned silence is doing wonders for her ego. 

 

Steve takes one long look at them, nostrils flaring and grins. “How did target practice go?” 

Darcy shoots him a dry look. “Well, he didn’t get it in my hair, so better than it does with you.” 

Bucky makes a noise - something between a squeak and a grunt - but Steve only laughs. “You love the mess.” 

 

“You been listening to Clint?” Clint loves the mess.  Darcy just loves Clint enough to allow it. “Oh shit - what time is it?” 

 

“Eleven thirty-two, Ms. Lewis,” Jarvis chimes overhead, the ever-present creep that he is. “Shall I cancel your twelve o’clock? Mr.Stark was most insistent----” 

 

“Nooo! I can make it, I can---shit.” She’s got her work out clothes on, sweaty and a tiny bit come-stained. “Fuck. I need----I need----” 

 

“I think I have some of your clothes in my closet,” Steve suggests, saving the day because he’s a hero like that. He’s already up, headed towards his room to no doubt dig out something she’s abandoned here. His clothes migrate to her closet too - when she wears them home - and usually result in Tony pulling on a shirt that’s wildly too big in the chestal region, and giving her a dirty look before fucking her over the nearest flat surface - wall, floor, table, whatever. 

 

“You’re a peach,” she says, words muffled as she strips off her shirt and bras right there in the living room, letting them fall to the coffee table even as she pushes down her leggings, hopping awkwardly on one leg towards the rooms, in an effort to discard them and walk at the same time. “Do I have shoes? I'm supposed to be meeting with---- _ ahhhh. _ ”

 

She’s going to have to have a talk with Bucky - who seems to have checked back online - about kissing her mid-sentence. Just as soon as she can stop  _ enjoying  _ it.  He has her pressed into the wall, hands under her ass holding her crushed against him and he’s hard again -  _ God _ .  

 

Steve peaks his head out the bedroom door, eyes going dark as his mouth curls into a smile. “Buck, c’,mon.” He speaks placidly, moving to lean against the door frame beside them, not tw feet away. “She’s got places to be.”  Darcy gives him a helpless look, as Bucky moves to kiss and bite at her neck. “Do you not remember, not so long ago, you running your mouth about how I paw at a dame---” 

 

Bucky pulls back just far enough to catch her eye and says, with that fucking smile, “Yeah but now _I get it._ ” 

 

Then he’s on his knees, with his face between her thighs and---and---and----

 

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve hisses, as Bucky throws one of Darcy’s legs over his shoulder.  Darcy remembers this - the first time - knows the way his tongue moves, knows the way her body moves but it’s so wildly different with her panties gone and she’s already wet, already sensitive from coming on his fingers----

 

Steve’s watching, body turned, closer now, eyes drinking in the sight of them together.  When Bucky pushes two fingers -no preamble - up into her cunt, Steve’s close enough for Darcy to reach and she does, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, as her other hand pulls at Bucky’s hair. 

 

He’s good. He was good before, but he’s  _ good _ . Fast learner, fucking her hard and deep, even as he licks at her with firm, fast strokes and Darcy’s not quiet. Darcy’s never quiet. 

 

Steve’s not quiet either. He invades her space, towering over her, hand cupping her face. He doesn’t talk to her, even though he’s looking right at her. He talks to Bucky instead. “Whatever you’re doing,” he says with a grin, pulling at her bottom lip with his thumb until she opens her mouth. “She likes it. Do you like it? Tell him.” 

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” she hisses, back arching as she rides Bucky’s face. “Fuck - please.  _ Yes _ . God---yes. Fuck. Bucky----Oh oh oh----” 

 

“She’s gonna come Buck,” Steve warns, the devil in his fucking eye as he grins and digs his hand into her hair, pulling too gently, not quite enough. “You close, doll? Mmm,  you are. Buck---curl your fingers a little---” 

 

“ _ God _ ,” Darcy cries out, head slamming back against Steve's hand as she comes in one wet rush, spine arching as her body searches for more.  Steve kisses her - and so does Bucky, really, if what he’s doing with his mouth can be considered kissing. It’s wild to feel them both, shakes her right through the aftershocks as Bucky eases his fingers from her cunt, and bites at her thighs, his own chest heaving. 

 

Steve straightens up first, cock hard in his jeans and Darcy is desperate to fuck him right now, she honestly is. Bucky is good - _so goddamn good_ \- but her body knows what it wants, and frankly - it’s dick. But, she’s got places to be, and banging Steve while Bucky watches is probably not the best course of action.  For her plans, or for Bucky who is still a little cagey about sex, if not Steve, apparently. Steve seems to understand though. “Twelve o’clock, right? I’ll find you a dress.” He disappears back into the bedroom. 

 

Bucky eases her leg off his shoulder, but he stays where he is, on his knees before her. “Sorry.” He kisses her belly, just below her navel, and his mouth is wet, the untidy scruff of his jaw unrepentantly soaked. “Sorry, I---” 

 

Darcy, sensing issues, brushes the hair from his face. “No apologies. I enjoyed it. And honestly - if I’m late for internal requisites because I was fucking around---Tony’s not gonna care. Anything else, yeah. Riding face? Not so much.”  The damnable thing is - it’s true. 

 

“I just....” Bucky presses his forehead to her belly  - he’s looking at her cunt, for all that he’s trying to be cute about it - both hands curled over her hips. He looks up at her, mouth curled into something softer, and maybe just for her. “I just can’t look at you and not want you.”

 

It's a far cry from calling her a slut and avoiding eye contact but....Darcy believes him.  Here, as he is, on his knees before her, all new and curious and open.  

 

***

 

Steve manages to pry them apart, dress her in a smart little swing-style dress in peachy pink, with the slingback stacked sandal heels she’s been looking for a month. He even fixes her hair into a tidier braid and sends her to Tony looking significantly less debauched for all that it doesn’t matter. 

 

“Darcy?” Bruce looks up from his desk, where he’s hunched over an actual notebook and pen, scratched and scribbled with indecipherable notes. 

 

“Hey, Bruce.” She scratches her nails through his scruffy hair as she passes, grinning when he cats into her touch. “Tony upstairs?” 

 

“Tony is...somewhere in Maine for the day?” Bruce frowns. “Did you have plans?” 

 

Darcy sidles on up to Tony’s desk, tapping the surface to pull up the day planner.  Hers and his are side by side and yep - he’s flying to main, something about ocean clean up technology.  And hers just says 12:00 pm - 1:00 pm, fucking Bruce in various positions. She closes the planner and grins. Tony always knows what she needs, and when she needs it. 

  
  


“No plans,” she tells him, moving back into his space. She pushes his notebook away and pulls the pen out of his hand, and he allows it, with a curious smile on his face. “You have any plans?” She asks, folding herself into his lap. 

 

He allows it, which is wild in unto itself.  He  _ allows  _ her touch - welcomes it.  They don’t get together nearly as frequently as Darcy and her other boys - but when they  _ do _ ...Well. 

  
  


Bruce moves her, bodily and with great ease, to straddle him properly. He pushes up her dress until it’s riding her hips, speaks as if he’s not baring her naked cunt shamelessly. “Actually...Tony told me to be free from noon to one. Didn’t say why. Any ideas?”

 

“One or two,” Darcy admits, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, methodical movements. “Three if you’re up to it.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have y'all checked out my new Thor/Darcy - A Temple Heart?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Stephen Strange makes an interesting babysitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after all the Stephen Strange I wrote into A Temple Heart...
> 
> I needed to get my Darcy/Strange fix on.

_A Few Weeks Later_

 

 

 

“Interesting.”

 

Darcy’s on just the wrong side of belligerence, standing on a sweeping foyer of a suspiciously-small-from-the-outside townhouse in lower Greenwich. Tony hadn’t exactly offered any explanation when he bodily dropped her on the doorstep, nothing but a ‘ _Hey Doc, remember that favor? Keep this safe for me would you?_ ’ thrown not at Darcy’s, but at the strange, lean man staring down his nose at her.

 

So. Belligerence. “If you’re waiting for me to ask what you find so interesting, you can eat my whole ass with a side of fuck you very much, bucko.”

 

The man doesn’t seem especially offended by her tone, merely raises a brow at her. “I owed Stark a favor, and he’s chosen to cash it...on _you_. You must be important.”

 

She sneers at him, mouth curling up into a sharp smile. She's not feeling very fucking important right now. “Yeah. Well, you must be too. Daddy takes real good care of me after all.” It’s true enough; Tony wouldn't leave her with anyone who couldn’t protect her. The fucker.  

 

Dude boggles at that, slanted eyes going wide. His ridiculous cape flutters about him in a way that is frankly unnatural. “You’re Stark’s _daughter_?”

 

Darcy can’t help the laugh that escapes her mouth. She isn’t inclined to correct him. If he doesn’t read the papers, that’s his problem. “M’names Darcy,” she says, shaking loose some of her anger. “Who are you?”  

 

His mouth pulls into a thin, grim sort of line that looks as if it might be his natural state. “Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts.”

 

The guy looks like a dick, but then again - so does Tony. Actually, Tony _is_ a dick, so Darcy doesn’t expect much here. “Spooky,” she says, flatly. “You got any booze in here?” Without so much as a whisper of wind, there’s a shot glass in her hand. She shoots it and it refills and Darcy’s never quite believed in magic before, but yes. Yes, please.  “Oh. Well then, you have my attention, Mr. Magic. How do you know Tony, again?”

 

“Doctor,” he says, with emphasis and just like that, Darcy’s fairly certain she has the whole of his character broken down in that two syllable word alone. “And we’re...work acquaintances.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Darcy paces the foyer, touching all the old and expensive looking things littered artfully around the space. She drinks the second shot and feels the weight of it shift as it fills again. Magic is neat. “And which work would that be?”

 

He touches her hand, pushing it away before she can put her fingerprints on a shimmery, framed mirror hanging beside a coat rack in the foyer. “The magical kind.”

 

“Don’t know about that. Tony doesn’t _do_ magic,” Darcy notes, raising a brow. She turns her hand up so she can drag her fingers across his palm as she pulls away from his touch.  He has very long fingers. “Doesn’t like it.”

 

“That does explain is a general air of hostility in regards to me.” Mister Magic is standing very close to her and it might be the two shots of good stuff, but he smells nice.  Like the air does in the morning when dew still clings to the grass. “He is especially disrespectful toward the Mystic Arts.”

 

“Yeah well, that’s magic.” She drinks the third because if Tony’s going to abandon her to be babysat by mystical weirdos, she’s going to repay the favor by getting sloppy drunk. “It’s science he doesn’t understand yet, and that pisses him off.” The shot glass fills again, but Mister Magic takes it from her and poofs it into the great beyond before she can drink it. “Hey.”

 

“In the interest of not exacerbating his distaste for myself and my arts, I’ll ask that you pace yourself at the very least.” Darcy’s not sure how she feels about his arrogant tone, but she can absolutely understand why Tony would _hate_ it. There’s not enough space in a room for all the combined hot air in their heads, she’s sure of it. “Darcy, you say?”

 

“You don’t read the news, do you?”  Darcy follows him up the wide, sweeping steps. His stride is twice as long as hers, but he seems to pace himself for her benefit.

 

The good doc snorts, and rolls his eyes like he’s above such things as printed media - but then Darcy is too. She just has Jarvis read her the headlines in his snooty British accent. She loves a snooty British accent. She’d probably like this dude more if he had one, to be honest. “Not in regards to Anthony Stark. He’s never mentioned a daughter.”

 

“For good reason.” That reason being that he doesn’t have one, but it’s as good as any, right? “Besides,Tony’s more secretive than most people give him credit for.”

 

“I suppose keeping the nature of your relationship with Stark private would benefit your safety,” Strange muses, missing Darcy’s meaning by a mile. He can’t see the trees for the forest and she’s certain it’s a problem he isn’t even aware of.  Like the clairvoyant types that fall so far in their crystal ball, they don’t notice their kitchen is on fire. “What is it, exactly, that they’re fighting? It wasn’t relevant enough to register...mystically.”

 

“No disturbance in the force? Well I guess that’s something. Some sort of Alien Warthogs in New Jersey.” Darcy shrugs. “They really need to get a wrap on all these random ass portals.  If things can fall in them - who's to say what can fall out? Lord knows we’ve got enough bullshit we don’t need to be sharing. Tomi Lahren. Artificial sweeteners. Streetlights that are on timers instead of just changing with traffic, I fucking hate that noise. But I mean - if we’re getting Space Pigs...what are _they_ getting? Are we sending poisonous arrow frogs to perfectly peaceful planets? Who the fuck knows.”

 

“Frogs?” Strange blinks down at her from the top of the landing. Seriously, his staircase is some Gone With The Wind shit, and statistically should not fit in a townhouse in Greenwich. “There are fire-breathing Warthogs trotting down the boardwalk, and you’re going with frogs.”

 

“Well yeah.” She follows him into a room, and finds another glass in her hand. “They’re small, and pretty and easily overlooked. And they can kill you before you realize they're a threat. Bacon that cooks itself running down Jersey is going to get more notice than an adorable lil’ pink frog that sweats toxins.”

 

He arches a brow and narrows an eye and Darcy holds his gaze because she loves a fucking challenge. Finally, he hums approvingly, if a hum can be approving. Which - it can, apparently. He’s lucky _snooty asshole_ suits his face, otherwise she’d be gone already. “Fair.”

 

Darcy digs around in her bag fishing out a small metal flask. “If can't have your booze, I'm going to drink my own. Take it away at your own risk.” When he looks like he might take that bet, Darcy pulls a face that could only be labeled as emotionally manipulative and says, in a quiet, plaintive sort of voice, “Come on. Tony’s out there - and I’m stuck in this magical playpen where I can’t help him. Not to mention the others. They’re my family, you know?” She flips the top off the flask and swishes the Scotch inside. “Let me have this, at least.” But as she drinks, amber fluid burning down her throat, she side-eyes him and thinks...there are better ways to take the edge off.

 

Tony would fucking haaaaaaaaate it, Darcy can already tell. It makes the idea ll the more pleasing, considering he dropped her on a doorstep and referred to her as _this_.

 

“So tell me about these Mystic Arts. Can you tell me about them? Or are they secret.” She whispers the word as she sidles past him, close enough to feel the heat from his body.

 

He allows it, with a scrunch to his brow. “There’s very little of it you’d understand,” he begins, and Darcy can’t help the huff that escapes her. “There’s an order to it - created to protect the world from mystic threats,” he allows.

 

“Loki Odinson,” Darcy suggests, earning a capital L _Look_. “I live at the Tower surrounded by super heros. I know more than you’d think.”

 

“Yes,” Strange says, eventually. “Exactly like Loki Odinson. Although he is currently off-planet.”

 

“And that’s really for the fucking better,” Darcy agrees, saluting him with her flask. “I take it you met Tony after the whole Odin-brothers fiasco? They really did not have that shit in hand. But then - that’s probably because Tony has a habit of underestimating magic.”

 

There’s a drink in his hand when she looks at him, in a small stone cup. She doubts it’s whiskey. “One would think you do not share the opinions of your father, the way you speak.”

 

“When the blind leads the blind, we all fall off a cliff.” She shrugs and sips from her flask again. “I love Tony, don’t get me wrong. But ignorance isn’t a reason to be angry. If anything - it’s a reason to be a little more open-minded. Willful ignorance just makes you an asshole. I don’t understand how my microwave works, but that doesn’t mean I won’t let it reheat my leftover food from Olive Garden okay like I’m not better than the microwave because I don’t understand it.” She moves to raise her flask once more, but Stephen Strange is suddenly there, in her space, towering over her with a curious expression she doesn’t know him well enough to decipher.  He takes it from her hand but before she can complain, a glass takes it place, pale yellow with two cherries at the bottom. “Mystic Cocktails. I am here for _that_.” She licks her lips but doesn’t drink. “Magic taste like....”

 

“What,”  he says, very sharply, a keen look in his eye and Darcy thinks...he really wants to know what it tastes like to her, “does it taste like?”

 

“Burnt sugar,” she says, winking. “ _Sweet_.”

 

He turns away so sharply, she thinks perhaps she offended him. “There’s a parlor upstairs,” Strange nods towards the winding staircase, turning his body away from her and the back of his neck is pale pink. No, not offended. _Hmm_.  The corner of his cape moves unto its own, curling around her ankle like a cat. Curious. “More suitable for waiting.”

 

She takes the steps two at a time and knows it’ll put her ass right in his face, but when she moves her foot to steal two more - she finds herself in another room. “Oh damn. Shit.” She feels her heart race a moment, but in a good way that makes her sort of giddy and weak-kneed. She licks her lips, burnt sugar stronger now on her tongue. “Did you just beam me up, Scotty? In a fucking house? A dimensional portal? That’s fucking insane!” She walks around him, letting the static in the airplay over her skin. She’s familiar with the sensation now - how it creeps across the hairs on the back of your neck. “I’ve never seen one so _small,_ seriously. That is wild.” It’s a very specific feeling, one she’s grown accustomed to during her work with Jane. She might not know how they fucking work, but Darcy knows what a rift in the space continuum feels like. Steven Strange did a _thing_. She turns sharply on her toes, pausing where the static feels the sharpest, just beside him. “Critical mass...what...four feet from the exit point. That is ridiculous. So, it’s not a fixed point element...but temporary dimensional portals are erratic within...I mean...I haven’t seen one stabilize without at least half a mile between them. How do you offset the reverb in such a small space? How are you calibrating entry and exit points without conveying? Did you---”

 

“Who _are_ you?” Strange blinks wildly at her, cup held against his chest. If Darcy didn’t know better, she’d say he looked _shook_. The left corner of his cape is bent at an awkward angle as if it were caught reaching for her. Darcy pets it. Seems like the thing to do.

 

“Darcy,” she reminds him, with another wink. She takes a drink. “Okay but like, are you going to explain the counterpoise---”

 

He’s still blinking at her, mouth stretched into a thin, grim line. “This is hardly Stark’s forte.”

 

“Wild, I know - but I’m actually a whole separate person.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Not just a pretty face, bucko.” She might be exaggerating - vastly - her intelligence here, but he doesn’t need to know that.

 

“The force of the shortened portal creates a pyrocumulus-like formation,” he explains, eyeing her for any misunderstanding but fuck him because Darcy knows her clouds okay? Jane had made her memorize them. With _flashcards_.

 

“Given the amount of energy it takes to open a portal I’m not surprised.” She shoots him a finger gun. “Pyrocumulus clouds typically form from intense heat. Heat is just energy. That energy causes an inward rolling vortex. It’s why volcanoes make rings and atomic bombs make mushrooms.”

 

“Correct.” He looks...well. Darcy thinks he looks pleased. Fuckin’ nerds. She’s boobs _and_ brains, thank you very much. And ass and sass. A total package, really. “If you create your exit point _very_ slightly -nanoseconds- before your entry point, the energy pulls inward, mushrooming out the exit, and creating a continuous vortex. The continuum of motion - also energy- negates the convex created by opening both portals at the same time.”

 

“The amount of energy needed to create each portal separately would be...” She waves her hand, sloshing her drink just a very tiny bit onto his expensive looking rug. “Atomic, actually. Nuclear. ” She looks at him. “Unless the continuum creates its own power source. The connection between the vortexes could cause an increase in speed, and motion is also energy.”

 

“Yes,” Strange agrees, not explaining where he draws the _original_ power for something so fucking ridiculous.

 

“Inwardly rolling vortexes tend to expand outward,” she notes, thinking about how Tony had taught her to blow smoke rings from fat, sticky joints only a week ago as they laid in bed watching Fight Club in their underwear. She’d lost herself watching the rings grow and grow and grow until they disappeared. Science wasn’t _always_ boring.

  
  


He concedes to that, which makes Darcy smile. She thinks Tony would like it too. “It isn’t wise to keep them open longer than absolutely necessary. Step in, step out. With a few exceptions. Reverberation creates intensity.”

 

“Neat,” Darcy says, and she fucking _means_ it.  She makes a mental note to call Jane in the morning.  Fishing the cherries from the bottom of her glass, she pops them in her mouth, and lets them split and burst between her teeth.“Hey so any mystic reason why your cape’s playing grab-ass or is it just as impressed with me as you are?”

 

Strange yanks the cape away from her with a sharp, fierce jerk. “My apologies Miss Stark, it’s---”

 

“Sentient,” Darcy notes, as it sneaks between Strange’s legs to reach out for her. “And very friendly. Cool. Thor’s cape does not do that.”

 

“Give it a couple thousand more years and it might.” Strange slips the cape off and hangs it on a hook near the fireplace.  Darcy takes a moment to eye the parlor, the rich damask walls done in velvet blues and filigree black. There’s a green, honest to God, fainting couch and a plush maroon high backed chair like something out of a Victorian Christmas movie.

 

“What do I need to do to make this a martini?” She asks, shaking her empty glass and making the ice rattle.

 

“It’s not an etch-a-sketch, Miss Stark,” Strange says, taking a seat in the chair. “It knows what you desire.”

 

A martini manifests in her hand. Darcy smiles and tips it to him. “Does it?”

 

“You’re a very interesting creature,” he says, apropos of nothing else. His little stone cup is now a wine glass, tastefully half-full with something deep and dark.

 

“Me?” Darcy tosses back her martini, lets the olive stay behind, and shrugs. “Don’t know about that. I’m just a normal girl. Not magic. Not super. I didn’t even graduate from college.” She laughs. “Lucky maybe, but not interesting.”

 

“No one’s ever told me magic has a taste.” He sips from his wine but holds her gaze and Darcy wants to squirm and it’s only hours and hours of sitting on attractive men's faces that keep her from looking away. Clint likes to fuck her in front of mirrors just to hold her gaze okay? She’s got this shit on lock. “In fact, most people tell me it makes them sick. Magic isn’t for everyone. Indeed, portalling makes most mortals quite disoriented.”

 

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. It had tasted like burnt sugar - sweet and smoky all at once. And when she’d known what to look for, she could feel it in a way. Nothing so solid, just a static in the air. Energy. That’s all any of it was. “I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. I thought it was kind of hot. Like foreplay for foreplay.”

 

He looks down at that, down into his lap and Darcy thinks that maybe the tips of his ears are pink. “Might I suggest an experiment? Something mild, I assure you. Harmless.”

 

“Well I’d assume so.” Darcy spoke loftily, for all that she felt her heart pound in her chest. He could hurt her, but she was very mostly certain he would not. Tony trusted him enough to leave her here after all and Darcy trusted Tony with her life. “I’d hazard a guess that whatever favor you owed Tony was magically binding. You agreed to keep me safe. Hurting me would be counterproductive.” She’s mostly talking out of her ass, bluffing hot and heavy.  But she knows Tony, and she thinks she knows the bones of Stephen Strange. “Right?”

 

“You’re very clever,” he says, eyes heavy lidded, as he gazes at her over his wine glass. Honestly, it’s making her a little hot, the look in his eye. She’s not gonna lie. She’s into it. “An experiment,” he says again. “Something harmless. I simply wish to test your response to magic. Something relatively benign. Uncomfortable at the very most.”

 

“Sure,” she says, recklessly. She shakes her glass again until it’s a shot glass, and knocks back a healthy mouthful of whiskey. “Lay it on me, Doc.”

 

It starts at her calves, a heavy weight that seems to pull up like the hot palm of a hand. At first she thinks it’s the cape again, but the capes still hanging where Strange left it.  The sensation moves up, curling over her calf, her hip, the curve in her waist, over her breast --- “Doc,” she says, a little breathlessly. “If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.” It presses against her neck, very much a lovers touch, caressing her jaw before moving it’s way back down.

 

“What?” The pressure dissipates with an almost audible pop, and Darcy can feel the pout on her mouth. “No I wasn’t--- the spell was designed to mimic a serpent. I wasn’t---”

 

“Are you sure?” Darcy can still feel the weight of the phantom touch for all that it no longer moves against her. “Because it just felt like you were feeling me up. Not gonna like - it was kinda working for me.” She fans her face with her free hand. “Hot.”

 

“Really?” He sets his wine down on a table that absolutely manifests out of thin air. “The Serpent's Tail should feel, at very least, unsettling. It’s a subtle spell designed to instill paranoia and fear at its fullest, but I used the minimum amount of force.”

 

“For something meant to be subtle, it was pretty heavy handed.” She pointedly fixes her bra strap from where it had been shoved down. Her nips are even hard. “We can try it again if you want,” she says, slyly. “For Science.”

 

“Oh. You’re flirting with me,” he realizes out loud, and Darcy blows him a kiss. Strange opens his mouth, only to close it again and ponder her with a scrunch in his brow. “You’re very interesting.”

 

“And you’re very Strange.” She laughs and finishes her drink. Magic is neat. Stephen Strange might be a dick. Darcy’s done a hell of a lot worse in life. She’s pretty certain she’ll enjoy it and it’ll piss Tony off - which she also enjoys. All in all, seducing Mr.Magic sounds like a good way to pass the time. “Make this thing disappear, would you?”

 

He does, with a nod, startling back in his chair when she pushes herself to stand. He doesn’t move as she approaches, and lets her fold herself down into his lap. “What else can we try for science, _Doctor_.”

 

He thumbs the zipper on her sweatshirt, looking up with an arched brow  - to gauge her reaction she thinks. He seems like the type of man interested in minute body language, so Darcy lets her shoulders relax, and her weight rest on his thighs. She arches a brow right back and her sweater disappears. “Tickles,” she says, in a flat deadpan. “That all you got? C’mon Doc, I thought this was supposed to be uncomfortable.”

 

She feels a phantom hand dig itself into her hair and she can’t help it. She gasps, and the fingers tangle, pulling. “Shit, are you going to spank me too?”

 

“Perhaps.” He puts his hands on her thighs and it’s strange, to feel three on her body but Darcy’s not going to pretend she doesn’t like it. “You have the potential for practitioning, Ms. Stark. Magical affluence begins with an ability to find its transformative state - of which you seem to have a natural proclivity.”

 

“Transformative, huh?” She rocks back, grinding her ass against the sizable bulge beneath his fancy fucking trousers. Doctor Strange dresses to the left. “Throw some more ten dollar words at me, Doc. _Proclivity_. You’re just making me wet.”

 

“This is a terrible idea,” he tells her hips as his hands curl over them and pull her closer, until they’re flush together in his fancy fucking chair. “Given Stark’s current animosity is at most bluster and relatively benign.”

 

“Which has you more worried you’ll upset Tony- teaching me magic or fucking me?” She’s genuinely curious, even as she finds a rhythm to the roll of her hips that they both seem to enjoy. She’s frotting with a wizard. Life is so weird.

 

“I’m not _worried_.” His insistence is edged with a strong hint of aggravation. “I’ve just never found blatant antagonistic behavior wise. Especially when it comes to unstable men in their middle forties. Unpredictable creatures.”

 

Darcy can’t help the snort that escapes her. “Yeah, well. So are women in their middle twenties,” she tells him, before reaching between them to get her hands on his dick. He twitches, back bowing against the chair and Darcy likes em’ easy.  “What daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt you.”

 

“That’s not how that...Hmm.” She strokes, as much as the little space between them will allow.His lashes flutter closed, even as his long, thin fingers bite into the give of her hips. “You make a compelling argument.”

 

“Take my clothes off already.” She takes her hand away, and cups his face instead, kissing him at the corner of his mouth and grinning when he tries, very faintly, to turn into it. “You can keep yours on if you like. You strike me as a man who enjoys that kind of power play.”

 

“Power play,” he echoes, opening his eyes to look at her.  He looks a little dazed - only a little, but somehow, Darcy knows that’s a victory. He takes his hands off her, only for a moment, but then Darcy’s on her back in a bed she knows nothing about. She means to gasp, but it’s very much a moan that escapes her as he settles between her thighs. Magic is...magic is fucking _neat_ . “You really like it,” he says, with a minute amount of wonderment. Darcy suspects he’ll be absolutely wordless during sex. Wordless, but not silent, and every little grunt will be a victory. “It genuinely feels... _good_ to you. I must admit, I find your paradoxical nature...interesting. I’ve never met a divergent before.”

 

“I was born contrary,” Darcy tells him breathlessly, as his hands roam.  Phantom touches chase where he smooths his palms over her body, like shadows.  It’s like a threesome between two people, and she is hear for it. “Take my clothes off,” she says again, less playful and more insistent. He moves to use his hands, but Darcy stops him. “Nah. I’m more in mind for a little misuse of magic.”

 

“A little,” he repeats firmly, long fingers glancing over her chest. He has a delicate touch, nothing trembling or shaky about it. He means to touch softly, and so he does. Darcy finds herself intrigued. “A balance must be maintained. Magic isn’t for pleasure.”

 

A button pops open all the same, the top one of a plaid shirt she stole from Steve and wears like a dress over leggings. Darcy grins. “I can’t help that I like it, Doc.” She lets her hands fall to rest beside her head, a pose of supplication if she’s learned nothing from Thor. “Plus - it’s for science. All knowledge is worth having.” She feels another button come loose, the weight of actual hands press against her ribs for all that she can’t see them.

 

Strange moves back - he doesn’t scoot. Darcy would hazard a guess that he’s never done anything so gracelessly as scoot. He moves back, exposing more of her body to him. “There is something similarly said among the Masters of the Mystic Arts. You’re very interesting, Miss---”

 

“Darcy,” she insists, feeling her stomach jump beneath another shadowed touch as her shirt is pushed open to reveal her bare skin and bra beneath.  Invisible fingers trace the line of her leggings. “Call me Darcy.”

 

“Call me Doctor,” he tells her in turn and suddenly - Darcy is completely naked, nothing coy or subtle. Just _naked_. He whispers something, his gaze heavy lidded and suddenly - the Serpent’s Tail settles over her again, never so much a snake but very heavy petting.It glides over her thighs, forcing them apart and all of Darcy’s breath escapes her at once. Magic. Fucking neat. “Acceptable?”

 

She’s going to say right now - Jesus was hardly weeping for the state of her sex life, okay? Darcy hasn’t had bad sex since she took up with the Avengers. Darcy’s boring morning quickies are what other people write to Penthouse about. Some of the best sex Darcy’s had was _fully clothed_ . But this? It’s different, and therefore immediately intense and overwhelming in the best of ways. “Oh God - _yes_ .” She grasps at the pillows beneath her head as her spine bows, and her toes curl.  The phantom weight settles between her thighs, a relentless drag of pressure that yes - does almost feel snake like except there are no snakes involved and it’s grinding directly on her clit. She’s here for it. She’s down for it. “ _Fuck_.”

When she manages to open her eyes, Strange is standing at the foot of the bed with a weighted, heated look. His fingers are not still, even as his hands lay at his side and Darcy feels them on her face, brushing over her mouth - very softly, very gently.

 

“You can touch me, you know,” she reminds him, breathless with the invisible, rising pressure between her legs. It’s relentless, and steady. Not like a tongue, or fingers, or the neon green vibrator both she and Clint favor.

 

“In due time,” he tells her evenly, mouth still pulled into a thin line and if it wasn’t for the tight, visible tension to his shoulders, Darcy would wonder if he was enjoying himself. He moves, kneeling on the edge of the bed. With a wave of his hand, the pressure stops and Darcy won’t like  - she sobs, just a little. Strange almost smiles, even as his eyes narrow and brighten. “I’d like to try something else. Given your previous reactions, I believe you’ll enjoy it.”

 

“Sure,” Darcy agrees blindly, stupidly. “Will you also enjoy it? I hear reverb creates intensity.”

 

A soft, huff of laughter escapes him, and Darcy likes the sound of it. “On your knees, if you would.”

 

“Facing you, or facing away?” She’s use to more direct instructions, or just straight manhandling.  Not that she’s complaining about Strange’s hands-off approach.

 

“Me,” he says shortly, and so Darcy does as he asks, leaving them both kneeling awkwardly on the bed, a foot apart and not touching. Until they are. Strange strikes like a viper, a hand between her thighs and his fingers are thin but _long_.

 

She can’t really help the way she falls forward, crashing against his chest. He doesn’t move, an infallible wall of lean body. To his credit, his other hand snakes around her body, holding her upright. “You really are wet.”

 

“You seem surprised.” She’s been wet since the first spell, honestly. Magic does it for her; who fucking knew. “I did say.”

 

“I’ve never met a divergent before,” he says again, one hand between her legs, and the other resting gently on the small of her back. “Curious.”

 

He’s totally getting off on her being a fucking weirdo, but Darcy’s not really in the position to find indignance in that. Most her boys do, frankly. She has, somehow, made being odd a commodity. That’s just fucking enterprise. _Fucking enterprise_. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me already, Jesus Christ.”

 

To his credit - he does. It’s a hard kiss, and biting. Darcy wonders if it’s been a while. To her knowledge, frustration lends itself to sharper pleasures. She does her best to hold on, even when he sinks both ihs flesh and blood hands into her hair and holds her in place.  It would be easier, she thinks, if he wasn’t still fucking her on phantom fingers.

 

She grasps the front of his jacket, bent forward and crushed against him. “Do you like it?” He asks, holding her face, his forehead pressed tightly against her own. A second phantom hand moves across her body, slick knowing fingers turning circles on her clit with unrealistic precision. “In the interest of our Scientific exploration,” he says lightly, brushing her open mouth with his thumb. “I do require an answer.”

 

“ _More_.”

 

Strange laughs again, and kisses her mouth - lightly this time. The way he’s holding her is...unsettlingly reverent for a man she doesn’t know. “More experimentation required.”

 

And suddenly it’s not phantom fingers working inside her. That is very much a _dick_. She can’t keep her gaze focused on him so close, and so her eyes close and she moans, struggling to sort herself out. She can’t push back against nothing, as much as she feels the insistent fucking urge to ride whatever he’s doing to her, and so she just holds tight, her whole body shaking, the unyielding pulse against her clit in perfect, inhuman harmony to the drive of Doctor Stephen Strange's Mystical Fucking Cock working in and out of her.

 

Seriously. Magical Cocktails and Cock. _Darcy is here for it._

 

“Is it---” She’s not entirely fucking sure what she’s asking to be honest. She’s got a question in mind, but words are hard to come by. The second hand has snaked between them, to cup her breasts and that’s just dirty play. There are too many hands. Darcy can’t keep up with how _good_ it feels. “You? Or just a...a...” What did Thor call them, when Loki doubled himself. “A shade?”

 

He turns her face so he can kiss her cheek, warm breath playing over her skin. “Shade’s are trickster magic,” he tells her cooly, and Darcy can’t stand how unfathomably still he is, when she’s losing her collective shit, drinking slick down her own fucking thighs. “It’s me.”

 

“Why are you invisible?” What a stupid thing to say when she’s looking up at him through heavy eyes. “I mean---Shit. I don’t know what I mean. You know what I mean.”

 

He kisses her again, even as he fucks her harder, driving her body into his own firm chest. “I’m not,” he tells her, with the first real flickerings of a smile.

 

And sure enough, when Darcy looks down (tugging against the gentle rest of his palms), the hand paling at her chest is very much real. “Oh fuck,” she says faintly, turning her head to find Strange fucking her from behind. “ _Oh---fuck_.” Almost frantically, she gets a hand on Stranges’ cock, the one that isn’t inside her, and finds that her hands are shaking too much to figure out his fancy fucking trousers. “In for the assist, Doc?” She pants, and without so much as moving - she finds his dick hot and heavy in her hand. “Suggestion,” she manages to sputter out, one hand still curled into his jacket. He is an unrepentant force behind her, and an unmovable one before.

 

“Continue,” he agrees, taking up her face once more and she realizes very belatedly that the eye contact does it for him. So, because Darcy is an amazing fuck, she holds it.

 

“Fuck me with both,” she says, very plainly. She’d say more but he has his thumb pressed to her tongue and she’s fucking conditioned to suck, okay? You put something her mouth, she’s going to suck. It’s Pavlovian at this point. Don’t judge her.

 

It’s the first time she feels the Strange behind her stutter at all, a ripple of static renting through the air and she knows - she’s managed to _surprise_ him.  It’s brief, over even as it’s begun and then it’s just relentless fucking and a rising build of pressure she has zero complaints about. “Amenable,” he says, and she thinks there’s a hint of breathlessness to his tone but she hardly gets the chance to fully investigate before the world tilts and everything goes a little bit backwards.

 

With the suddenness of blinking, she’s in Stranges lap, Strange still behind her, fucking her harder now, like nothing short of magical intervention could stop him. “Wait,” she says, dizzy with her own need to come. “Are you the same one---”

 

“Differentiating is unnecessary. We remain the same entity,” he explains with way to much fucking couth for someone lifting up her ass so he can push his cock inside a space already taken up by _his own fucking cock._

 

Darcy’s taken two dicks before. Bruce and Tony are BFFs on a cosmic level that also includes her pussy.  This is different. For all that they’re besties, Bruce and Tony are different people and so - no matter how intune they are....

 

It’s nothing like Stephen Strange.  The way he moves mirrors himself, and Darcy is just...fucking helpless to the way it rolls through her body. She rides him with significant assistance, four hands lifting and moving her over and over and over, never hesitating or stuttering. Knowing hands, and the coordinated effort is really what fucking does her in. Physical pleasure, and magic alike. It rips through her, an unwavering force and Strange never stops driving into her with perfect tandem thrusts.

 

“I’m going to come,” she tells him, and the thought manifests itself into reality immediately. She’s beyond speaking, for all that her brain is bleeding his name out her ears. She’s just breathless panting, and echoing moans and she feels when he moves to ease up, as she meets her peak and begins that reckless spiral down. “Don’t fucking---Oh God, _don’t stop_ .” Because she needs to feel him come. Twice. She really just does. “Harder. Harder. _Harder_.” It’s a bit demanding, given that she’s a half-limp mess in his lap, mouth pressed against his neck. She feels like she’s still coming, like it’s never really left her. She feels her thighs shake, and her body lock and go limp like a perfect contradiction. “Doc,” she moans, as he digs his hands into her hair and brings her face to his, forehead resting gently against her own. “Oh...Fuck.”

 

“I want to try something,” he says, through clenched teeth. He is almost still beneath her, still buried deep inside her, but behind her, he’s never stopped. “I want---”

 

“Go to fucking town,” Darcy tells him, on a slur. “Fuck.”

 

This time when he kisses her, hands still cupping her face like something precious, Darcy feels a pleasure two-fold that isn’t her own. She comes instantly, flailing over his body and realizes it’s his --- it’s what he’s feeling. His pleasure, slamming into her own and she realizes that...he’d been feeling hers this whole time.  

 

Reverb creates intensity.  He comes twice. Darcy can’t stop fucking coming.

 

***

 

“Stark is going to _kill_ me.”

 

It’s the first thing she hears when she comes too, flat on her back and fully dressed. Clean too, nothing sticky or sweaty about her. Darcy blinks. “What the actual fuck.”

 

“You’re awake.”

 

“You strike me as a man who rarely announces the very obvious so I’m going to assume you’re freaking out.” She’s passed out before, but only with Thor. “Oh wow.”

 

“Wow?” He echoes, peering down at her from the foot of the bed again. “Can I assume wow means that you are...well.”

 

“Buddy,” Darcy says, stretching a little as she pushes herself up to sit. Her clothes are cleaner than they were before he took them off - she’d spilled martini down her front - and that’s kind of weird but also kind of nice. “Doc,” she amends. “I am _fantastic_.”

 

“You were unconscious for over thirty minutes,”  he argues mildly, with a perturbed look on his otherwise calm face. “It’s not an overtly common reaction to---”

 

“Really great sex?” She raises a brow. Honestly, she feels great. Good sex does that though, and whatever Mystical Mojo Strange was throwing down was good. She throws her legs over the edge of the bed, and tests very gingerly her ability to stand. “Awww, damn. Yeah. I’m good.”

 

“Ms. Stark,” Strange begins, the air of awkward very apparent between them.

 

“Darcy,” she reminds him. She grabs his hand on a whim, and presses it to her cheek. “I’m solid, Doc. Good times all around. Don’t be getting weird on me. You good? Good times had? I fucking _love_ science.”

 

“Agreed.” He hums, his smile faint, even as his thumb brushes her mouth. “I am genuinely interested in investigating your potential for magical practitioning. Your innate aptitude for transformative energies is very compelling. I’ve heard of mortal divergence before - those with a natural proclivity- but never to such an extreme.”

 

“Can’t stand a mystery, can you?” She pats his hand and steps away. “I’m down to learn. I really mean it when I said all knowledge is worth having. Hey, what time is it? Do you think---”

 

Below, a door bell rings. Doctor Strange makes a face - sour lemons. He grabs her around the waist and Darcy grins at the familiarity bred by sex - before portaling them to the foyer. “I inquired upon the battle in New Jersey while you slept. No significant injuries. That must be Stark now.”

 

The door flies open and Tony steps in. The Iron Suit is nowhere to be seen - just Tony dressed in his lab wear, rough looking jeans and a soft grey t-shirt. “Thor’s trying to convince one of the Suits to let him keep a space pig for roasting.  You wanna intervene?”

 

“On whose behalf? I fucking love bacon.” She steps forward, letting Tony scoop an arm around her waist and lay one on her - a wet and messy kiss. “Hey Daddy.”

 

Tony shivers. “You don’t call me that where other people can here. Oh my God, Darcy _did you have sex with him?_ ” .

 

“She told me she was your daughter,” Strange says faintly.

 

Darcy laughs, looking at him over her shoulder. “No I didn’t.”

 

Tony, with the vein over his temple looking especially prominent. “I’m not sure how to correctly address the issues at hand here. You thought she was my daughter, so _you fucked her.”_

 

“Those were largely unrelated,” Darcy tells him, loftily, as she disentangles herself from his grip. “Correlation. Causation. Whatever. Drop me off with a stranger again and see what happens, Tony." She turns to Strange who looks uncomfortable, which Darcy thinks actually translates to confused. He doesn’t strike her as a man often confused. “Sorry for letting you assume he was my dad.”

 

“I don’t appreciate facilitating disloyalty, Ms...” He stops short, frowning. “Darcy. I did mention my disinclination for encouraging animosity.”

 

Tony sighs, loudly and with great aggravation. Darcy leans up on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, before grinning at Strange. “Tony, tell him.“

 

“No,” he says petulantly. “I don’t want to.”

 

“Tony,” Darcy elbows him in the ribs. “ _Tell him_.”

 

“Fine! It’s hot! I’m into it! I’m super pissed you slept with him and I immediately want to go home and fuck you into a mattress very angrily while also hearing about every terrible thing he did to you. Oh my god  - _did he use magic_?” He turns to Strange, his face nothing but offended. “What the actual fuck, guy? You know I hate your fucking mystical bullshit!”

 

Strange blinks, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry; are you _more_ upset I used magic than you are at the fact that I slept with your...Your---”

 

“Sugarbaby,” Darcy supplied, cheerfully.

 

“Fuck you, you’re my girlfriend now,” Tony grouches. “You go around fucking my frenemies, you’re gonna be my girlfriend. You’re just going to have to live with that. Christ - it’s bad enough you sleep with Coulson. Strange, Darcy? Really? He’s a fucking _weirdo_.”

“It was really good,” Darcy tells him, taking no measure to contain her giddiness. “He knocked me out for like half an hour. That’s long than even _Thor_ has managed.”

 

“It’s like a thirty minute ride home and now I have an angry boner,” Tony tells her, with that sassy tone he only uses when he’s too pent up to be properly sarcastic. “I hope you're fucking happy. Say your goodbyes, you’re blowing me in the limo.”

 

“Yes Daddy.” She blows him a kiss.

 

“Oh _fuck_ you,” he mutters, hunching over a little as he stalks out the door.

 

Strange stares at him as he goes. “I am very confused.”

 

“Yeah but are you free like next week?” She flips open her phone. “Hows Wednesday work for you? My evenings open. Can you show me how to make portals?”

 

“Anything after four,” he mutters, frowning into his own sculpted beard.

 

“Sweet.” She’s not going to lie. She prances right up to him, an actual skip in her step, and kisses him right there on the corner of his mouth. “See you then, Doc.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get back to Bucky next time. Enjoy, Kiddos!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes this shit just writes itself. 
> 
> Darcy/Bucky

On Wednesday, Bucky’s lurking outside Clint’s apartment when Darcy steps out, having successfully found the exact pair of leggings she was looking for (the ones with the snitches, bitches). That’s one of the pitfalls of sleeping in that many beds - your shit just ends up everywhere.  _ Everywhere _ . 

 

“Oh hey,” she says, perfectly delighted to find him stalking her, frankly. He’s her shy baby, so all instances of him escaping the shadows to seek her out must be praised and rewarded. She kisses him, pressing in against his chest and leaning up on her toes. He grabs her at the hips very gently with one hand (the fleshy one, of course, because Bucky has more hang-ups than a coat closet). “What are you up too, mister?” 

 

“I’m driving you to Greenwich Village.” His fingers curl into her t-shirt a little, before letting her go. “Stark asked.” 

 

Of course Tony did.  Darcy feels her mouth stretch into something disapproving before she can stop it, and Bucky takes a little step back. “Are you driving me to see Doctor Strange because Tony asked or because  _ someone  _ told you I slept with him.” Tony. Tony told him. Darcy was absolutely certain of it. 

 

“Yes,” Bucky admits to nothing and everything all at once.  

 

He lets Darcy brush the loose hair from his face behind his ear, those little wayward bits that always escape his bun. She taps the bottom of his chin until he looks at her. “C’mon. We can take the subway. It’s like twenty minutes.”

 

Without Tony putting his hands on her, Darcy doesn’t actually get noticed all that much in public. She makes it a habit to wear her glasses instead of her contacts, pull her hair up, skips the make-up, the glitz, and glam. To be honest - it probably has something to with the way she looks in sweaters versus the dresses Tony has made for her. Bucky’s got a face that people should know but don’t. Mostly they just see a hottie with a body.  So it’s no big to take Bucky’s proffered arm and step outside the tower, feet beating the warm pavement. Bucky doesn’t get out much, and Darcy gets why, but she still thinks it’s good for him. 

 

It’s certainly good for  _ them _ .  He likes his little moments with her just as much as the rest of them, except that he likes them  _ different _ . Darcy lets their fingers tangle as she cuts through the turnstile before him, so the tether of their bodies never fully splits. They stand, crushed together, Bucky’s right arm holding the bar above, and his left arm forced to curl around her body and hide beneath her jacket. She just holds on to him, both hands tucked beneath their chests so she can play with the buttons on his coat. She smiles up at him, tipping up on her toes until he concedes to a kiss. 

 

“You know I sleep with other people,” she says eventually, voice quiet in the noise of their subway cart. Bucky will hear anyway.

 

“Yeah,” he says, after a long moment. “I just forgot that you might sleep with  _ other  _ people.” 

 

Darcy considers that and thinks...it’s a fair enough assumption. She’s mostly kept her activities contained within the tower. With a few exceptions (re: Coulson). “He’s a good guy. He’s like...you know. One of the Good Guys. And it was probably a one-off.” Um.  _ Probably _ .  Tony didn’t hate it nearly as much as he fucking acted like it if what he did to her in the limo on the way home was any indication.  Darcy ten-out-of-ten would do again. 

 

“I’m not upset.” She’d like to believe him, would like to think he isn’t lying but it’s hard. Bucky is hard to read. Especially when he pairs the easy words with soft touches, metal fingers dipping very faintly into the elastic band of her leggings. It’s an innocent touch, a simple affection but for Bucky - it’s a big deal.  It’s bold and presumptuous, two things he isn’t when it comes to her. “I never expected you to wait on me.” 

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m not waiting. I’m still waiting. I’m very patient,” she says, splaying her fingers across his chest so she can drag her hand down low to his belly and touch her fingertips to the waistband of  _ his  _ pants. She’s patient for Bucky; there’s no reason not to be. “Plenty of reasons not to rush.” Plenty being Tony, Steve, Clint, Bruce, Thor and sometimes Coulson. “Honestly...the waiting’s kind of...I don’t know. Fun? Fun.  _ Exciting _ .” 

 

Bucky does nothing to contain his skepticism, both eyebrows scrunched over a pout of a scowl. “C’mon doll. Don’t go yankin’ my chain. I know me dragging you around ain’t exciting.” 

 

She rolls her eyes and lets her fingers dip a little lower beneath his jeans just to feel the low set of his hard stomach jump beneath her knuckles. He’s already a little hard, she can feel it against her hip.  “Please. You know it can be...it’s the chase. Earning it. Thinking about it. The little thrill that runs through you when you let your thoughts wanders,” Darcy drawls, a little bit a sucker for that little twang his voice takes on when he forgets to be a moody baby. “You gonna tell me you didn’t like a little chase, back in the day? Bet you loved those girls who didn’t give it up nice and easy.” As soon as she says it, she winces. “In fact, I know you did.” Given that he thought she was an abominable slut the greater portion of their acquaintanceship. 

 

He reads it her face, and she feels his body go a little soft, as he tugs her closer, to press right in against him. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s something to be said about nice and easy.” 

 

“I don’t mind the chase, Bucky.” 

 

A little laugh escapes him, and Darcy always counts those as a victory. He smiles down at her, private and small, but it reaches his eyes the way not a whole lot does. “Never thought I’d be on this end of the play, doll.”

 

“We playing?” She arches her back, lets her spine curve and her breast press a little harder against his chest, a peek of cleavage playing at the neckline of her shirt. “Guess I better step up my game, huh.” 

 

“I’m looking forward to losing,” he admits, and it’s the most he’s ever said to her about if they.... _ when _ they finally get themselves together. 

 

And well, she’s gotta fucking kiss him after that.  He bends to meet her, and Darcy kisses him deep and dirty. No one cares, they’re just too millennials on the rail with no manners. No one is shocked. She can still feel Bucky tense beneath her touch, but he kisses her all the same. He trusts her. 

 

In fact, he trusts her enough to get a little handsy and Darcy isn’t even going to pretend that doesn’t make her fucking  _ wet _ .  Oh, he’s not so bold as Tony, who has fingerfucked her nonchalantly at public functions where she was sat on his lap like a proper sugar baby, hands sliding upskirts he purchased explicitly for that reason.  She’s come on camera a number of times and blamed the flush on her cheeks for the many martinis. So no, he’s not so bold as that, but he does grab her ass, over her leggings, fingers digging into the soft give of her left cheek, skating close enough to her pussy that Darcy gasps.   It’s nothing anyone of her other boys would scoff at - they do as much at the breakfast counter without even really thinking about it. But for Bucky - it’s a pretty big thing. 

 

“You little fucker,” she says through a clenched-teeth grin because there’s something about Bucky being Bucky-Brand naughty that is just...really fucking hot.  She can feel his shoulders shake with perfectly silent laughter and thinks...Well. It is a game. 

 

“Oh, what---” He begins, as she turns in his arms, resting her back heavily against his chest. “Did I---” He’s going to ask if he did something wrong, and Darcy refuses to even let that thought manifest in his pretty head. She tugs his arm tight around her waist and presses her ass up against him. “ _ Doll _ .” 

 

He’s tall enough that it really puts his dick at the small of her back, and just where her ass begins but it’s enough. “Easy babe,” she mutters, pushing herself back until she’s standing flush against him. The rock of the subway cart and the new crush of people that pour in only force them tighter together and he’s so hard, it makes Darcy a little dizzy.   With both her hands cupping his arm against her chest like any other girl in love might-do, she eases his palm up under her jacket, where his thumb brushes the swell of her chest. From there, she simply lets her body go lax against his, holds herself gently still, forces him to keep her safe and upright. She doesn’t grind against him like she would Steve or Tony.  They’re playing a game, after all. And it’s Bucky’s move. “You good?” She  _ has _ to ask. It’s Bucky. “Babe.” 

 

He doesn’t answer with words, but his hand does clench where it’s curled around her breast under her jacket, and very gently...very subtly...he shifts his feet and pushes up against her. 

 

“Fuck,” Darcy hisses, hands spasming where they clutch at him.  She wanted him to do it - fucking duh - she just really didn’t think he would. 

 

He leans down and kisses her hair and it would seem sweet - probably does to anyone around them - but really it just lets him grind a little harder against her.  Darcy can’t help but answer with a push of her own ass against and she’s rewarded with Bucky’s metal arm sliding sharply down her body to wrap hard around her hips. 

 

_ Jesus Christ _ ,  she thinks.  _ They’re in public.  _

 

The subway comes to a screeching halt, driving her hard against his hard cock and she can feel the rapid way he’s breathing, hot against her hair. More people pour in than leave and Darcy’s forced to step back or be stepped on. “Doll,” he hisses, breathlessly. “Doll, you gotta stop.”  She would, except she’s not the one whose hitching their hips a little faster, a little harder. That’s him. That’s all him. Darcy would be proud if she wasn’t so fucking turned on. “Fuck, _ I  _ gotta stop.” He still fucking doesn’t though, so Darcy just lets him do his thing. 

 

She uses the sway of the car, and the shift of the people to turn in his arms again. “Good?” She asks, even though he probably shouldn’t because Slutty Darcy is calling the shots now and she has historically poor impulse control.  He nods, once, so tiny and tight and tense she might not have seen it if she wasn’t staring at his face. It’s more than enough. 

 

Sweetly, she lays her head on his chest.  If he wasn’t pressed hard against her stomach and she wasn’t ruining a very nice pair of panties, she’d probably still love the comfortable way his body fit against her. As it is though, he  _ is _ hard and she  _ is  _ wet. She works her shoulders into his coat, lets him hunch his body around her - just a girl a little bit cold stealing warmth from her boyfriend. 

 

Except she gets a hand in his pants, works it through the hole in his boxers and ---

 

“ _ Darcy _ ,” he whispers, high and sharp. “Fuck. Darcy.”  No one can hear them - the rumble of the tracks and the mindless chatter around them too loud. But Darcy feels the word all the same. 

 

She tips her head back just a little. “Want me to stop?” 

 

Bucky shakes his head. Small, tight, tense. But it’s still a clear no. 

 

She’s giving Bucky a fucking handjob in a subway car. Steve would be so fucking proud. 

 

She can’t go fast. Can’t work that twist in her wrist she knows he likes. More or less, she just holds him, lets the vibrations of the car do the rest, the push of his hips, the crush of people driving them tighter together.  It’s probably not enough to do anything but hurt a little, and she wishes there was...something more, she could do. He’s being so fucking good for her, she’s half ready to march them both straight home, Doctor Strange be damned. But he’s so fucking hard in her hand, so tense against her, fingers biting into the small of her back, and she really needs this to be good. For him. Positive reinforcement. She’s not really sure how to hold herself, how to angle her body, though and she huffs. 

 

“Sorry.” She’s just a little bit breathless, looking up at him. “I’ve never done this before.” 

 

Darcy isn’t expecting him to kiss her.  She’s certainly not expecting him to lick his way into her mouth, and  _ fucking kiss her  _ like they’re not on a subway car in Greenwich Village, surrounded by the six o’clock rush. She’s not expecting that. 

 

She’s really not expecting him to shudder,  mouth open and slack against hers as he comes all over her fucking hand, in his pants. 

 

(Him coming in his pants will never not be fucking hot. Darcy grew a whole new kink when she met him.)

 

“ _ Doll _ ,” he says again, this time plaintive and shuddery. “I---I---” 

 

“That is so fucking hot,” she tells him. Not particularly quiet, but out of context, they’re just being gross millennials with bad mouths. “Fuck.”  Bucky’s face is bright red, which is fair because his boxer briefs are full of cooling come. Darcy eases her hand out of his pants as subtly as she can, shamelessly wipes her palms off on the inside of his jacket and grins up at him like an absolute fucking idiot. “You good?” 

 

“Oh, he’s just fine,” Steve says, from right behind her because Steve’s an asshole and even Darcy’s tail gets a tail. She honestly couldn’t tell you if it was for Bucky, or if he’s just that paranoid about her. It’s a toss-up. She elbows him in the stomach because she can, and he pretends like it hurts because he should.  He also lets her know that he’s hard too, cock pressed against her back. 

 

“No,” she says, burrowing into Bucky’s chest. “I don’t reward assholes.” 

 

Steve snickers, because Steve is an asshole. “Clint says otherwise.” 

 

“Oh my God, you guys have to stop talking,” Darcy flushes red enough to match Bucky - who very obviously did not get Steve’s meaning.  He’s a long fucking way from being introduced to sex toys. Darcy turns just enough to look up at him, where he’s mirrored Bucky’s pose, arm stretched overhead to hold the bar. He’s not touching her, but he is grinning. “Have you been here the whole time?” 

 

He doesn’t lie. Steve’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. He’s also not above throwing his buddy under the bus with him. “Yes but Bucky knew, so you have to be mad at both of us.” 

  
She lets that mull for a minute lets that roll around in her head. She turns in Bucky’s arms again, looks up to find Steve staring at her, half-lidded and smirking. “ _ Stop that. _ ” She’s too fucking turned on for him to be looking at her like that.  Doesn’t help that Bucky has his whole hand splayed over her belly, spanning from where her leggings sit low, to the underwire of her bra. It’s a possessive touch, even subconsciously and she’d think he was making a statement if he wasn’t pushing her up against Steve.  “Seriously. Don’t corrupt my baby with your fucking exhibitionism.” 

Steve stares at her, reeling back just a little, all wide-eyed and gaping smile. “Me? You’re the one who---” 

“Don’t tell me you weren’t somewhere goading him. We both know that’s a fucking lie.” To his credit, Steve denies nothing. “That’s what I thought. He’d have never let me do that if you weren’t here.” 

Bucky stoops low, and puts his mouth real low, over here ear. “That’s only ‘cause I trust Stevie to watch my back when I can’t keep my mind of nothing’ but you, Doll.” And that’s probably fucking true. That’s absolutely fucking true. Bucky probably asked Steve to tail them. They’re incredibly co-dependent like that. Which will absolutely be a whole lot of fun in the future, but right now...she feels decidedly  _ hunted _ .  Bucky already fucks her up by thinking to kiss in public is risque. She can’t have Steve  _ coaching _ him. She’ll combust. His pinky plays at the edge of her leggings. “It’s a cryin’ fucking shame I can’t touch you, Doll.”  Even as he says it (real quiet because saying it at all is very bold for Bucky, but he’s not ready for anyone but her to hear it) Steve moves a little closer and Bucky’s hand dips lower, brushing along the edge of her panties. He doesn’t move further and Darcy glares at Steve. 

This is his fault. She’s sure of it. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve smirks, shoulders shaking as he laughs at her shamelessly. “You’re the one that suggested the subway.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yep just fucking.


End file.
